


Heir

by Nahiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Child Abuse, Dark!Harry, Every other Weasley sucks, F/M, Harry/Draco/Ron are BFFs, M/M, abandoned, eventual slash, rape in third year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 101,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahiel/pseuds/Nahiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry was just six years old, he learned to hate, which woke up the portion of Voldemort's soul living inside of him.  The wizarding world probably isn't ready for a Harry Potter raised by the Dark Lord.  Eventual slash between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.  Note:  Story has been abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The moment the glass shattered, Harry knew he was in trouble.

It didn’t matter that Uncle Vernon had knocked into him or that Dudley had stuck his foot out at just the right moment. It only mattered that Harry had been the one to drop the glass. But Harry wasn’t stupid. He was young, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew the score. Even if he hadn’t been the one to drop the glass, he would have been punished for it. He was still in the room, after all. Still in the house. Still existed. And that was always more than enough for his Uncle.

“I’m sorry!” he managed, just before he was grabbed by the back of his shirt. “Please, Uncle,” he choked out, and then Aunt Petunia and Dudley were both setting their forks down, placing their napkins on their plates, moving away from the table.

“Dudders, we don’t want you seeing this,” Aunt Petunia murmured, and Harry tried not to scream. It hadn’t been his fault, he wouldn’t have... it didn’t matter.

As Uncle Vernon tore his shirt from his back, which was another thing that Harry would be blamed for as the flimsy, over washed material tore away with little effort, Harry knew that it didn’t matter. It never mattered whose fault it was, it never mattered if he’d done anything... it never mattered.

The belt buckle bit into his skin for the first time, then, and Harry fought not to scream. To beg. It didn’t matter if he did that, either, except that he thought maybe Uncle Vernon enjoyed it when he did because when Harry did finally give in, like he always did, it always got so much worse.

Harry was only five, but as the belt buckle bit into his back yet another time, and as he felt the blood starting to trickle down his back, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he knew what hatred felt like.

ooOOooOOoo

There was blood everywhere.

Harry couldn’t stop crying; hadn’t stopped from somewhere around strike ten and it had gone on for so much longer than that. He’d lost count around strike twenty. He had begged until his throat was raw with it and still it had gone on.

His back felt like a mess; he didn’t need to look to see how awful it was. He could feel it, every time he shifted to try and clean up some of the blood on the white and blue tile of the floor. And the worst part of it was that every time he did manage to scrub up some of the blood, he knew that he was leaving just a bit more behind him. He just hoped that the broken glass Uncle Vernon had shoved him down into earlier hadn’t punctured his clothes. He didn’t want to leave bloody knee prints behind him to try cleaning up later.

And then there was the cheerful sound of the television in the background. That had been going since a few minutes after he’d started screaming, and wasn’t that just a lovely soundtrack to his misery? He hated his family, more than he’d ever hated anything in his admittedly young life. One day... one day... he would rise above them. Somehow, someway, he’d be better than them in the end. And he’d make sure they knew it, yes, he definitely would at that. He would...

“You’re not working nearly fast enough, boy,” Uncle Vernon sneered. The pain in his back flared as a heavy foot landed upon it, pressing him down to the blood-stained floor, splayed out like a bug on a slide. He cried out, and then fought off tears because his throat felt like he’d swallowed glass. And then it only got worse, because his Uncle deliberately ground his foot into his back, and Harry screamed again, unable to stop himself, no matter how much he wanted to.

Harry wished, more than he’d ever wished anything in his very short life, that his Uncle would just die. Because Aunt Petunia wasn’t so terrible to him. She made him cook and clean and weed and everything, yes, and sometimes she accidentally knocked him into the hot parts of the stove, and the baths she made him take were always frigid and sometimes sent water down his throat and soap in his mouth and eyes, and sometimes the food she gave him was off and made him a little sick, but she never deliberately hurt him. She was always snapping at Uncle Vernon not to kill him, or they would come, and Harry thought that maybe if Uncle Vernon wasn’t in the picture she might even be decent to him. And Dudley... well, he was a bully, there were no two ways about it. Harry knew that Dudley had tripped him just to get him punished, but maybe he’d get better without his father around leading by example. Yes, Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew that his life would be much better if there wasn’t a man named Vernon Dursley in it.

But Harry was only five. Wishing was futile. It didn’t matter; it never mattered. He was stuck with his life exactly the way that it was, and probably would be until it killed him, literally.

“I apologize for my sloth,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice from cracking any further. It wasn’t easy, especially not when every word felt like it was being squeezed through sandpaper. And when his Uncle’s foot lifted off his back, he tried his hardest to work faster.

Because it wasn’t like he had any options, right?

ooOOooOOoo

~Filthy Muggles,~ a low voice hissed in Harry’s head once he was curled up on his thin mattress under his threadbare blanket, grey from being washed so very many times. It barely did anything to keep him warm, but it was better than nothing. He thought maybe, anyway. It was all he’d ever had, so he didn’t exactly have anything to compare it to.

His back was throbbing. It would hurt at least until morning, but the pain would ease. It always did. He just hoped that he wasn’t catching a cold on top of the injuries, but he couldn’t think of another reason why he’d be running a fever. And he had to be running a fever because why else would he be hearing voices? That was kinda strange, and little Harry didn’t think he cared for that very much. Maybe he really was as much of a freak as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always said...

~You can hear me?~ the voice in question asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes,” Harry whispered with great care, because his voice still felt like it was going to give out at any time, and saying anything at all was a bit like running bare skin against a shark’s body: painful and grating and awful. And he could still taste the blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten his cheek to try and stop screaming while Uncle Vernon was thrashing him. And that was only making everything that much worse, because Harry hated the taste of his own blood.

~Oh,~ the voice murmured, and then it began to laugh. It was a dark, scary chuckle that made Harry flinch away from the sound. But the sound was coming from inside his head, and he couldn’t really get away from it. Harry didn’t think that he liked that very much. ~Oh, child, if you can hear me... there’s no limit to what you and I could accomplish together,~ the voice crooned, in a sickeningly sweet tone that Harry could remember hearing his Aunt use when talking to Dudley.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really know where you’re coming from and I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry whispered, because whispering hurt his throat less. And even if he was more confused than anything else, it was always a good idea to be polite. Sometimes when you were polite to somebody they were kind to you, and gave you things like a free ice cream on a hot day if you looked pathetic enough. Harry had only gotten that once, though, and Aunt Petunia had caught him before he could finish it. She’d been mad, because he wasn’t supposed to take charity, and Uncle had thrashed him good when he’d gotten home from work that Friday.

~It’s a crime,~ the voice murmured. ~An absolute sin, that one such as yourself, hosting a being like myself, should be cowering away from those vile Muggles.~ A dark, alien set of emotions rose within Harry then; anger and hatred and an all consuming urge to destroy his Uncle that made Harry cringe back from it. He’d felt like that earlier, a bit, and it scared him. He shouldn’t hate like that, he wasn’t meant to hate like that.

“Please,” he whispered, begged even, not really even sure what he was asking for. It wouldn’t do any good, asking never did, but he couldn’t stop the plea. He curled in on himself, tucked his head under his pillow, tried to stop the barrage of alien feelings that made him think that maybe that was how his Uncle felt all the time.

There was a beat while the emotions in question swelled to an ever greater presence, and then everything stopped. ~Oh, child,~ the voice murmured regretfully. ~You are... you are more connected to me than I’d realized. I hadn’t intended to unnerve you like that, and I do apologize for doing so.~

Harry gasped as a warmth, just as strange and alien as the earlier hatred, welled within him. It was still strange, still so very unfamiliar, but it was so warm and wonderful and perfect, Harry thought that maybe he could wrap it around himself like a blanket and sleep with it at night. It was amazing, and he never wanted it to go away. He thought that maybe as long as that inner warmth was there he’d never be cold at night again. It was a heady thought, and he pulled his head from under his pillow and smiled up at the ceiling, because he had nowhere else to look. “Thank you,” he whispered. And to make it all better, his hands and knees weren’t sore any longer.

~Is that better for you, then?~ the voice asked, and Harry felt a warm breeze caressing his cheek, almost like what he thought maybe a breath against him would feel like.

Harry sagged fully into the bed and whispered, “So much better.” He looked around the room again, looking for something like a shimmer or a glint or anything really to show him where the voice was coming from. But there was nothing, and so hesitantly he asked, “Where are you, anyway?” and realized as he did that both his throat and back were feeling much better.

~I am in your head, trapped here by my own doing I am afraid,~ the voice murmured, sounding regretful.

“Trapped?” Harry asked, and was delighted when speaking normally didn’t make his throat hurt any longer. But then he heard the ceiling above him creak just a bit, and he remembered the other reason for not speaking loudly. Whether he could or not, he didn’t want to lose that ability a second time before the night was out.

~I cut down your parents. Murdered them, really, to stop a prophecy from being fulfilled, and in the way of most prophecies, managed to bring about its fulfilment instead. You defeated me as a baby, and I’ve apparently been sleeping in your head ever since.~

There was a moment as Harry tried to figure out what had just been said, and then, “You... you killed my parents? You were trying to kill me?” Were it not for the fact that he didn’t think he could take another strapping, Harry was pretty sure he would have been yelling at that point. He had a murderer in his head? That couldn’t be a healthy thing, right? Not to mention, this... this voice claimed to have killed his parents. But... but didn’t they die in a car accident? Maybe he was the other driver? But that didn’t make sense; the Dursleys had told him that his parents had been drunk and at fault so...

~Your parents did not die in a car accident!~ the voice shrieked, painful in Harry’s head. He flinched, covered his ears, but since the voice was inside his head it did no good.

“Sorry, please, sorry,” he whispered, curling in on himself once again. And once again even in the back of his panicking mind, marvelled at the fact that already he couldn’t feel the wounds on his back. They never healed that quickly. But oh god, please don’t let the voice hurt him again. Harry couldn’t.... he just couldn’t do that again.

~I apologize for losing my temper with you,~ the voice said stiffly, with only a hint of sorrow coloring his tone. Harry relaxed a bit, and the voice continued with, ~It’s a crime, that you should know so little of the truth about your parents. They were my enemies, yes, but they were honorable adversaries. To be relegated to the drunken fools of a children’s tale is an insult to their memory.~

“I don’t...” Harry blushed, because he thought maybe he was supposed to be able to understand what the voice had said. But Harry wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t! He just didn’t know... Actually, a lot of the things the voice said didn’t make much sense to him. But he was used to not understanding what adults were saying, and he knew that the voice belonged to an adult. How could it not? It seemed to know lots more than him...

There was a sigh in his head, and then the voice murmured, sounding weary, ~Your parents were good enemies. We didn’t agree, but I respected them. It’s insulting to both them and myself that your Uncle lied to you about the way that they died. I killed them because of a... a prophecy. Somebody told me the future, and I had to kill them to stop it from coming true. Your mother died to protect you, child.~

“She loved me?” Harry asked in a small voice.

~More than she loved life,~ the voice confirmed.

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face that night.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry woke up in the morning, somehow he could tell that the voice was still active. It took his sleepy brain a few minutes to figure it out, but eventually he realized that the voice in question was muttering softly to itself, cursing viciously about something. He, the voice that was, didn’t appear to realize that Harry was awake.

“Is something wrong?” he asked hesitantly, and he got a distinct feeling of surprise from the voice that made him giggle.

~You... are awake. Excellent. I was trying to put myself back to sleep. Being stuck as a passenger in a child’s body isn’t exactly stimulating for a being of my intellect, if you must know, nor do I particularly care to spend your formative years being tortured by that boorish uncle of yours.~

“Huh?” Harry asked, having only understood about one in a few words of that. He thought maybe he could get the basic gist of it, though, and he sort of felt bad for the voice. He hated his life too, after all, and didn’t want anybody else to have to live like him either.

~You’ve got it. That’s exactly what I was saying,~ the voice murmured, this time in an approving tone.

The feeling washed over Harry and he soaked it up. He’d never had anybody approve of anything he’d done before. Not even when he cleaned the bathrooms perfectly with only twenty minutes, or when he’d made that pot roast the other night. The Dursleys never approved of anything he did. It was something Harry thought that maybe he might like to get used to, but if the voice was going to go back to sleep then he shouldn’t try getting used to it.

It wasn’t going to last. Nothing good in his life ever did. It all went away after he got used to it. He should know better than to think that it wouldn’t.

~But... it doesn’t seem that I can go back to sleep, at least not right now,~ the voice murmured. ~So that leaves me with one other option. Making your circumstances better is certainly something that we can work on, don’t you think?~

Making... “But what about the Dursleys? There’s not much we can do with them, because they’re adults and I’m just a kid. I’m not much more than a baby, even,” Harry whispered. He ducked his head, a flush of shame heating his cheeks. He hated being so helpless around his Aunt and Uncle and cousin. He hated them, too, even if he knew he shouldn’t.

~You absolutely should hate them, child. And as for what we can do with them, well, there is quite a lot that I can teach you,~ the voice murmured gently to him.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before asking softly, “But what should I call you? And...” What was there to prevent the voice from betraying him? To stop the voice from murdering him like he’d murdered Harry’s parents? Nothing, and there wasn’t really anything he could do about that anyway. The voice was just that, a voice in his head. He couldn’t do a thing about it, so he might as well be allied with it. So, he shook his head rapidly. “Never mind. What should I call you?”

~My name, child, is Tom.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a dark fic, I'm going to warn for that now. I'm sure that I should have more tags and warnings up than I do, but I don't want to spoil the story. If anybody has concerns about the direction they see this story headed in and wants to know what warnings I need for the future, please feel free to ask. I don't bite.
> 
> My Harry is probably wildly OOC, although I do try to justify things within the canon that I've built. 
> 
> There will be many other relationships than just the main, but I didn't list them because I don't want to spoil anything.


	2. Chapter One

Harry came out of his cupboard that day with Tom’s advice sounding loudly in his ears. _ **Never show them your fear**_ , the spirit had counseled. _**Never show weakness**_. It sounded hard. It sounded impossible, in fact. Harry didn’t necessarily want to show fear or weakness, but how could he not cry when he was being struck? How could he not be afraid of his Uncle’s wrath? He was only five, after all, and his Uncle was much bigger than he was. But Tom had said... Tom had said... _**I will handle it when next you are struck**_ , with a kind of cold certainty that made Harry shiver.

Tom was a murderer. Tom was a monster. Tom didn’t pretend to be anything but. And even though he knew it was wrong, Harry couldn’t help but wish that when Tom said that he would ‘handle it’, he meant that he would kill Uncle Vernon. The thought of it made him feel a little sick. Hating like that... he shouldn’t do it. It was bad, and wrong. But there was a part of him that was a little gleeful about it, too.

~They’ve earned your hatred, child,~ Tom murmured and sent a burst of warmth in Harry’s direction.

Harry relaxed a bit as he moved to the fridge and began removing the ingredients for breakfast. Sausage and bacon and pancakes were listed on the fridge for the morning’s food, and Harry began to prepare them with a speed that came from familiarity. This was routine, this was the rhythm of the morning, this he was used to. It was comforting in its routine, and he relaxed entirely as he stood at the stove flipping the meats and the pancakes.

Uncle Vernon arrived at the table first, and Harry set his plate out for him and moved swiftly out of the way. Staying within range of Uncle Vernon’s fists was never a good idea. Never, not even when he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. No matter what Tom promised, Harry wasn’t willing to test that just yet.

~I don’t blame you for that. You’ve been hurt quite a lot for your young years,~ the spirit within his head murmured.

Harry couldn’t suppress a smile. For a murderer, Tom was awfully nice to him.

“What’re you smiling about, freak?” Dudley asked, as he thumped into his seat. At five, as fat as he was and as short as he was, he looked like nothing so much as a beach ball and Harry fought down the urge to say just that. He knew exactly how that conversation would go and that it would end in another thrashing. He was recovered from the last but that didn’t mean he was ready to court another so soon. So he bit his lip and settled Dudley’s plate in front of him.

~What did I promise you, child? I will handle it should anything happen. Go on, say what you’re thinking,~ Tom encouraged.

Harry glanced warily at his Uncle, then said quietly, “I was thinking that you looked like a beach ball.” And then, horrified by his own nerve, he turned back to the stove as though he hadn’t just said it and heard Uncle Vernon’s fork clatter against his plate. He could hear Aunt Petunia moving about upstairs, no doubt putting on all the makeup she pretended she didn’t wear, and settled her plate in its spot before turning back to the stove once more.

Maybe if he acted like he hadn’t said anything then he wouldn’t be hurt. What had he been thinking, saying something like that?

No such luck. “What did you just say, Boy?” Uncle Vernon shouted, and Harry didn’t have to turn to know that his Uncle was already going purple in the face. Really, the man was at a very unhealthy weight, he should watch his temper or he might have a heart attack. Even Harry knew that being that weight wasn’t healthy or safe.

~So tell him so,~ Tom suggested. Harry’s eyes widened at the thought. Sassing off directly to Uncle Vernon? That was... that was suicide. Uncle Vernon would kill him, and rightfully so. He was just a burden, a useless freak that took their valuable money and gave them nothing back for it. He should be ashamed at even thinking anything ill of his Aunt and Uncle, he should apologize, beg for forgiveness, not be so awful towards his cousin, towards his Uncle that he need to be punished. It was all his fault. ~No!~

Tom’s shout hurt Harry’s head, and he flinched from it. “Sorry,” he whispered. If his Uncle thought the words were for him, that was even better.

~No, child,~ Tom continued, more gentle than he had now that he had the boy’s attention. ~They are the ones in the wrong. You are well within your rights to hate them, to want them to hurt. There isn’t a soul in the universe that could blame you for wanting revenge on them for the appalling way in which you’ve been treated.~

Harry’s hands were frozen over the skillet as he considered what Tom was saying. Eventually, the smell of burning food reached his nose and he automatically turned off the heat before the contents of the skillet could burn further. Not that Dudley would care, the pig would probably eat it anyway. More importantly... he was allowed to hate the Dursleys? That didn’t... that didn’t make sense. He should be grateful. They’d given him a home, they’d given him clothing, they’d fed him...

~They give you the scraps from their table they wouldn’t feed a dog! The clothing they give you isn’t fit for washrags, and still you defend them? Child, you are far too good for this Earth,~ Tom murmured. And then, after a moment’s consideration, added, ~And possibly far too good for the conversation I must have with your Uncle. Very well then, time to try an experiment.~

Harry felt something shoving against the back of his mind, like something pushing on his head from the inside. He struggled against the alien feeling, closing his eyes and fighting it. “Stop it,” he whispered, raising one shaking hand to his forehead. His scar was suddenly burning and felt like it was about to split open. A drop of blood spattered on the tiled floor that he’d spent so much time wiping down last night. He didn’t like this at all.

~Just let it happen, child. Relax yourself, let me into your mind,~ Tom murmured, and Harry stopped fighting the shoving feeling.

Immediately his view shifted, and it was as though he was looking over his own shoulder. It was a strange thing to see, and he blinked and shook his head to clear it. But his head didn’t move at all, making Harry just a bit dizzy.

~Wh-what happened?~ he asked, only to have his lips not move and his voice sound in echoes within his own head.

“You little freak! You’d better not be having some kind of fit! I won’t waste my time taking you to the hospital!” Uncle Vernon roared, and Harry flinched in fear within his mind. Uncle Vernon was angry, and Harry wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. It wouldn’t help, but he wanted to do it just the same. And now he wasn’t even in control of his own body and there was nothing he could do.

~We’ve switched places,~ Tom murmured. ~Now hush, child, and allow me to demonstrate the proper handling of a beast such as your Uncle.~

Harry’s body moved then, jerkily stepping down from the footstool he used to reach the stove. “You should watch your temper, Muggle scum,” Harry’s voice crooned, in the same sickeningly sweet tone Tom had used with Harry when they’d first spoken last night.

“What did you just call me?” Uncle Vernon bellowed He raised one hand as though intending to strike.

Harry felt something within him stretch, and then his own hand was reaching out and squeezing into a fist in the air, and Harry could feel something fluttering in his hand, almost. It was a peculiar feeling. After a heartbeat of consideration, he thought maybe it felt like a fist closed around a fluttering bird. Uncle Vernon went white, dropped to his knees clutching desperately at his chest.

“You should watch your temper, Muggle,” Tom said in the most cool, unaffected tone that Harry had ever heard. “You’re dangerously overweight, I wouldn’t want you to have a heart attack,” he added, and Harry felt his lips twist into something like a smile.

He went over to the table, took Aunt Petunia’s still-untouched plate of food from it and began walking towards Harry’s cupboard. “I think you’ll find that I’m not quite the same as I’ve always been. You would do well to have a care with your treatment of me from now on, Uncle,” Tom said without turning around, just before closing the door to the cupboard behind them. Harry felt something else swell within him, a burst of energy just as the door closed, heard Tom muttering something softly, but before he could ask Tom was hastily setting the food on the neatly-made cot and then...

...and then Harry felt something within him release and suddenly he was back in control of his own body and he was going limp, falling to his knees, entire body trembling with exhaustion. “What did you do?” he whispered, horrified.

~Don’t worry, child, he’ll be fine. But he will think twice before treating us in such a way again,~ Tom answered, sounding incredibly satisfied with himself.

“You took... you took food from them! They’ll...”

~They’ll do nothing. And you need to eat. We just used a lot of energy with that stunt.~ Tom spoke matter-of-factly, and Harry could feel his stomach rumbling at the smell of the food. It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t had dinner last night... or lunch or breakfast for that matter. So yes, he was very hungry. ~Monsters,~ Tom grumbled in the back of his mind. ~Go on and eat, before one of them gets the idea to try and come after you.~

“What do you mean, try?” Harry asked. He moved carefully towards his cot, for once very grateful that his cupboard was so small. It meant that he didn’t have to try and stand, he could just shift over a bit and there was food, right within his reach. Never mind that he could barely hold his fork up, much less the plate. He ate slowly and carefully, trying not to just gobble it all down. He didn’t want to sick it back up, after all. That was always the worst. When they finally gave him food and he was stupid and threw it all back up.

Tom was chuckling darkly in his head. ~I meant exactly what I said, before one of them gets the idea to try. The door won’t open for them, not any longer. That last burst of magic? I was warding the door. So good luck to them, trying to get in here to punish you. They won’t be able to enter until we’re ready for them to do so.~ Tom’s laugh took on an even more sinister tone. ~In fact, I kind of hope that they do try. They’ll enjoy the surprise I’ve left for them.~

And by them enjoying it, Harry had no doubt that Tom actually meant that he would. The sinister wording left no illusions; Tom had done something awful to Harry’s door. But... but magic? Tom.... no, Uncle Vernon said that there was no such thing as magic.

Harry opened his mouth to ask, but almost as soon as Tom was finished speaking there was a loud banging on the closet door. “Why won’t this blasted door open?” Harry heard Uncle Vernon snarl, and then there was a bright flash of red light and the sound of something thudding against the far wall.

~Next time, it won’t take nearly so long for the wards to kick in,~ Tom murmured. And exactly as he said, the doorknob rattled once more, and then there was another flash of light followed by a high pitched shriek. Harry recognized that tone as belonging to his Aunt. The shriek was followed by another loud thud.

Harry finished his food, feeling safe and secure for the first time ever in his young life. Even if he didn’t know what Tom had done or how he’d done it, “Thank you, Tom,” he whispered, once he’d swallowed the last piece of bacon. He was a little thirsty, but was too contented to worry about it just then.

~You need to sleep now,~ Tom whispered, and Harry nodded. His eyelids were heavy; he could barely stand to keep them open. ~No, no, I need you to get up and into the bed. You may be young, but your body still won’t thank you for sleeping in such an awkward position.~

Harry yawned and struggled to his feet, and then managed to collapse into the bed. The threadbare blanket was trapped beneath him, but he hardly felt its lack. “Why’m I so...” he paused to yawn, and then continued with, “tired?”

~It’s the magic use,~ Tom responded. ~You’re far too young for me to be using your powers in such a way, and I’ll have to be far more careful in the future. The ward I cast was a bit too strong, much stronger than what was necessary. I’ll remember that for next time. I apologize~

Harry smiled sleepily. “S’okay,” he muttered. He opened his mouth to ask about magic but his bed had never been so comfortable and he couldn’t quite keep his eyes open no matter how hard he tried so he gave up the fight.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry came back to himself with a feeling of sleepy, warm contentment. He curled in on himself and fought waking up. It was so nice to be able to wake slowly, to be able to just lay still and not have to worry about getting up, about making breakfast, about being hungry... he just wasn’t ready to move just yet, that was all. And who could blame him?

~There’s not a soul out there that could,~ Tom said. ~However, I am of the opinion that you should rouse yourself soon. Your bladder is going to explode if you don’t, and I’d imagine you’re also very thirsty.~ He sounded like he was laughing, and Harry thought that maybe he would sometime soon be able to get used to the feeling of Tom laughing in his head. It was a nice feeling.

But still... now that Tom had mentioned it, “That was mean, Tom,” Harry muttered. He could feel the pressure of his bladder, now, and the scratchiness of his throat. He was thirsty, maybe thirsty enough to drink a whole liter of water... probably not. That would be a lot of water. Either way, his feeling of contentment was rapidly diminishing.

~My apologies,~ Tom answered, sounding anything but apologetic.

Harry grumbled as he slipped out of bed. His knees were still a bit shaky, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been when he’d gone to sleep. It seemed more like the floppiness of finally getting enough sleep after a really long time. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed to sleep as long as he wanted to. He owed Tom a lot, he thought, and didn’t know how he could begin repaying the spirit.

~You owe me... actually, yes, let’s go with that,~ Tom said smugly. ~And you can start repaying me by getting yourself to the bathroom before you make a mess of yourself.~ And with that charming thought, Tom fell silent within Harry’s mind.

Harry paled at the thought and slipped from the cupboard, for once not even remembering to check and see if any of the Dursleys were nearby. They weren’t, thank God, and Harry crept along until he made it to the bathroom. He couldn’t hear anybody within the house, and thought that maybe they’d left for the day. What time was it, anyway?

~You were asleep for a little over a day,~ Tom responded. ~I would have woken you sooner, but you really did need the rest. I overdid it more than I’d thought I had.~ The apology in his voice was genuine, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s okay,” he whispered shyly, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. “I don’t... I don’t mind. You were only trying to help, after all.”

He went over to the toilet, then, and pulled down his pants and... couldn’t. He flushed, because even though his bladder was uncomfortably full, he couldn’t make himself... not with Tom there and awake and watching and... ~I’m not looking,~ Tom protested, laughing. ~I don’t really have any interest in your bodily functions, child!~

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to imagine that Tom wasn’t there and hadn’t just been talking to him and he was alone and it was okay. And then, relieved, he flushed the toilet and pulled up his pants and washed his hands. “Hopefully that will get easier,” he muttered, still blushing. It was hard not to forget that Tom was there, and Harry wasn’t looking forward to going through that litany every time he had to relieve himself. The whole thing was a bit embarrassing.

And somewhat daunting, now that he stopped to think about it. Tom would _always be there_. When Harry got the chance to take a bath? Tom would be there. When Harry needed to use the restroom? Tom would be there. When Harry was older and maybe met a girl? Tom would be there. He would see everything, know everything, _be there_ for every part of Harry’s life. It was a terrifying thought, now that Harry was allowing himself to think it.

~I could try and go back to sleep,~ Tom offered. There was an edge to his voice, though, a sort of bitterness that left a sharp tang in Harry’s mouth.

“No!” Harry protested, knowing that just wasn’t an option. “You can’t, please, don’t leave me alone again,” he begged, knees giving out at the thought of being left alone by Tom. “I can’t do this on my own, not anymore,” he babbled, back pressed against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. His eyes blurred with tears at the very thought, and he tried his hardest to fight them off. Tom didn’t like it when he cried, said that crying was a sign of weakness, and that Harry shouldn’t be weak. But Harry was afraid that he was weak without Tom there, and the thought of being alone again... Harry just couldn’t.

He felt that warm, safe, wonderful feeling welling up within him once more. ~I’m not intending on going anywhere, child,~ Tom crooned. ~I shouldn’t have said that. It was an idle threat.~

Harry sagged in relief at the gently spoken reassurance, let his head thump gently against the wall. “Thank you,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder than that for the choking in his voice.

They sat in silence for several moments, then, Harry relishing the warmth that Tom somehow wrapped around him, and Tom simply allowing it. Eventually, though, Harry’s dry throat and rumbling stomach called him back to the real world, and he struggled to his feet once more.

“Are the Dursleys even here?” he asked as he made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a tall glass of water and gulped it down before refilling it and placing it carefully on the table.

~What makes you think that I know?~ Tom asked. Or care, his tone added. Harry settled himself at the table and sipped at his water. His chore list, normally posted on the front of the fridge, was surprisingly absent. Harry marvelled over that before Tom bit out, ~And aren’t you going to eat something?~

Take food from the Dursleys? He was already going to be in so much trouble for the stunt that he’d pulled yester... wait... no, Tom wasn’t going to let them hurt him. He could... he absolutely could go and take food. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that Tom would be more angry if he didn’t take food.

~Yes, Harry, that’s correct,~ Tom muttered. ~You need to make sure that you eat regularly. You’re far too thin for a child of your age, and magic requires a lot of energy. If you aren’t eating regularly, I won’t be able to cast to protect you, and I won’t be able to teach you everything you need to know.~ There was that word again. Magic. But magic wasn’t real, Uncle Vernon had said. And Aunt Petunia agreed with him, and why would they lie? But they had lied, a little voice whispered inside of him, and Harry pushed it away.

Food was much more exciting than magic.

“Then... I guess I should go make a sandwich!” Harry said brightly, tickled at the thought. He’d never made himself a sandwich before. For Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley, yes, but never just for himself. He was lucky most of the time if he got a slice of bread, much less two. And they never had anything on them.

He felt a hint of the murderous rage he’d felt before from Tom that vanished in the face of his rather childlike delight at the thought of being able to make a sandwich. It was nice to know that he could affect Tom as well as Tom being able to affect him, even if Tom probably didn’t like to think about it that way.

It only took him a few minutes to prepare the sandwich in question, and Harry settled himself back at the table and stared at it for a few minutes. It looked too good to eat! Bread, and meat, and cheese, and veggies, and a tall glass of milk to go with his tall glass of water... it was a feast! He couldn’t possibly eat it, it was too nice looking to...

~Would you just eat, child?~ Tom asked, exasperated.

And Harry laughed before taking a bite of his sandwich. It was every bit as delicious as it had looked, too.

ooOOooOOoo

He was just finishing up his sandwich when his Aunt and Uncle both came through the door, which was odd because it was a workday. Uncle Vernon should still have been at Grunnings, definitely. There were still a few crumbs on his plate, and Harry was chasing them with his finger and contemplating going for another sandwich, even though he wasn’t really hungry and couldn’t actually imagine eating anything more, when they walked into the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon saw him sitting at the table, the empty plate before him, and the crumbs on the empty plate, and his face turned purple. “Just what do you-”

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia hissed, and elbowed her husband sharply in the gut. “We talked about this,” she continued, eyeing Harry meaningfully.

Uncle Vernon subsided, but didn’t stop glowering at Harry. “I don’t like it, Pet,” he muttered.

“Neither do I, but the freak’s capable of just about anything. We don’t want... we don’t want to be hurt,” she whispered back, sounding as though she were trying to be brave.

“I can hear you, you know,” Harry pointed out when Tom prompted him to do so. “And you aren’t endearing yourselves to me at all right now.” Actually, it was kind of funny to hear them being so afraid of him, like he still was of them, and that made him feel bad. He shouldn’t be happy that others were suffering.

~You should be happy that these pitiful examples of Muggle filth are suffering,~ Tom protested. ~They deserve every bit of suffering I can cause, and then some more for good measure. What monsters, to mistreat a child in such a way. Even at my darkest, I never would have dreamed of mistreating a child.~

“No, you just left them orphaned and alone,” Harry shot back, and then went white. He shouldn’t have said that, and definitely not aloud judging by the puzzled looks on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s faces. Tom was going to be so angry. He was going to leave again. He was...

He was... laughing? ~True enough, my dear child,~ Tom chuckled. ~I don’t even have an appropriate argument for that.~

“What are you talking about b- Harry?” Uncle Vernon asked through gritted teeth.

“Just talking to myself,” Harry answered, and hopped down from his chair. He took his plate and two glasses over to the sink and rinsed all three off before popping them into the dish rack to dry. He slipped from the room, then, and was over at his cupboard door before either Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could think of a response.

He’d only just opened it when he heard Aunt Petunia shout, “Wait!” and his hand froze on the handle instinctively. Aunt Petunia shouting was never a good thing. Either his Aunt or Uncle shouting generally meant that pain was following, even if Aunt Petunia wasn’t as quick to hurt him as Uncle Vernon was.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” he asked, expecting perhaps for his list of chores to be assigned. He hoped not. He was still a little tired and shaky from earlier, and he didn’t want to be thrashed when he failed to complete his tasks in a timely fashion. Not again.

~If that’s what they want, they’re in for another rude surprise,~ Tom grumbled. ~They should make their own spawn do some work instead of dumping it all on you. Or even, you know, do some of the work themselves!~

Harry didn’t disagree, but he did think that maybe Tom was being a little unfair. After all, he’d never tried to get Dudley to do something he didn’t want to. The boy was a menace! He could throw temper tantrums that Harry truly was jealous of, they were so impressive. And Uncle Vernon did work hard all day long, so Harry couldn’t blame him for being tired after he got home from work.

~Far, far too good for this world, but this is a conversation for another time,~ Tom was murmuring, but Harry’s attention was focused on his Aunt, who seemed to be fidgeting a bit.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” he asked again, and she startled a bit.

“You’re... well, you’re going to be six very soon, and...” She stopped, took a deep breath, and began once more. “Since you’re going to be six soon, your Uncle and I have been talking, and we think that maybe your cupboard is getting to be a bit snug for you. So we’ve cleaned out Dudley’s second bedroom for you so that you have a bigger space of your own,” she said, and then she was looking down and away, and Harry realized that she was trembling. She was frightened of him. Terrified.

What had that... that ward of Tom’s done to them? Tom was very suspiciously not responding to the question, so Harry thought that maybe he didn’t actually want to know. Instead of focusing on the question, he chose to focus on the wonderful news that he had his own room. He hadn’t ever thought... well, he’d never thought he’d someday get to live in his very own bedroom!

“Thank you so much!” Harry burst out, and offered his Aunt a blinding smile. He couldn’t help it, he was just so excited at the thought of having his own room. He’d been pretty sure he was going to live in the cupboard under the stairs until he was old and grey.

She, on the other hand, looked like she was about to be sick. “Really, it’s the least we can do,” she whispered, and then she was turning, running away from him. Fleeing from him, as though he were some kind of monster.

And to think, just a few days ago he’d thought it would be nice to have the Dursleys terrified of him. Now he wasn’t sure that he liked it at all.

~Yes, but if they weren’t so afraid of you, you wouldn’t have had that delicious sandwich earlier. You wouldn’t have a room of your own to go and explore. You would still be doing all of their work instead of learning from me,~ Tom pointed out.

Harry’s eyes widened. He went up the stairs, managed to hold himself in until he was all alone in his brand new room, and then burst out, “Learning from you?” He bounced in place, excited beyond belief. A room of his own, with a bed and sheets and blankets and a pillow! An actual pillow that wasn’t beaten down into nothingness by years of wear and tear! And a window to look out of, and a desk to write at, oh, this was wonderful!

~It’s still secondhand crap,~ Tom was growling in the back of Harry’s mind, but Harry didn’t care!

“But it’s my secondhand crap,” Harry shot back, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what the phrase he’d just repeated meant. It was his, and that was all that mattered. If Tom didn’t like it, well, he could just keep quiet! Harry was too excited to be brought down by Tom.

Tom let out a heavy sigh, and Harry could almost feel his breath against his skin. It made him giggle. ~Right. So I’ll keep quiet about the state of your room, and I don’t expect it to stay like this for too long anyway. And as for what I’m going to teach you, I’d thought you’d have guessed by now: I’m going to teach you magic, among other things,~ Tom said, redirecting Harry from his excitement over his room.

“Magic?” Harry whispered, then glanced fearfully around his new room. Which was ridiculous, because Uncle Vernon was downstairs. He could hear the telly going in the living room. “Uncle Vernon says there’s no such thing as magic. Aunt Petunia agrees.”

~Uncle...~ Tom bit off something that sounded suspiciously like another curse word. ~Child, I told you earlier that what I was doing that was making you so exhausted was magic. Did you not catch that?~

“No I...” Harry stopped, considered, and then said quietly, “Well, no, I mean I heard it but... but magic isn’t real! But... how else could you have... oh.” He paused, let the thought of magic... magic! sink in a bit more, and then said quietly, “So you’re a... a wizard? Or you were. Before you, you know, killed my parents and died.”

~Yes, Harry,~ Tom murmured with what sounded like a great deal of forced patience. ~I am a wizard, a very powerful one, and so are you.~ And then, through gritted teeth, ~In fact, I believe that you may even be more powerful than I was before I passed on.~

Harry let out a little gasp, then immediately felt like an idiot. Of course he had to be a wizard to, Tom had said that he was using Harry’s magic earlier and that was what made him so tired.

~Glad you’re keeping up,~ Tom said dryly. ~When you are eleven, you will enter the wizarding world for the first time. I would show you how to do it sooner, but I’m concerned that it would be a bit dangerous for one such as yourself. The one who managed to slay me would have attracted quite a bit of notoriety, I’m sure. So for now your instruction shall be mostly theoretical, as you are far too young to manage wandless, wordless magic without my own interference.~

Harry was nodding rapidly, giving himself a headache. But he couldn’t stop, because he wanted Tom to be absolutely sure that Harry understood what he was saying. Because if Harry was a bad student, Tom might stop. And Harry wanted to know all there was to know about magic and wizards and everything else that came with it. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself when he finally was allowed to enter the wizarding world.

~Never fear, child. You will be the most well-educated Muggle-raised halfblood who ever walked the earth. I will see to that myself. And when you do finally enter the wizarding world and attend Hogwarts, you will be a credit to your line and your House.~

“I’ll be the best student I can for you, Tom,” Harry whispered. And he meant, it, too, with everything in his heart. He would study and learn so that he could be great. Like Tom, who had clearly once been a great wizard, if not infallible. And being taught by Tom would let Harry learn from the other’s own mistakes, so that he didn’t repeat them.

What better goal could he have?


	3. Chapter Two

It seemed that Dudley had never caught on to the new power dynamic within the household, Harry mused as he sprinted through the empty parking lot at top speed. They were chasing him, Dudley and his gang of rotten little snots. He supposed he could stop and let them catch up to him. At that point, Tom would stp in and handle matters. Harry didn’t really think that was fair, though. It would be overkill. Tom was, after all, a many-years-older murderer, and Dudley and his lot were just bullies.

~Bullies that I would be more than happy to deal with in your stead, child,~ Tom pointed out. ~I wouldn’t even necessarily kill them. I have many years practice dealing with rotten little monsters like them from my own youth.~

It had been a little over a year since Tom had awoken within Harry, and Harry thought that they were getting along very well for two people stuck sharing one body. He himself adored Tom, even if Tom were a bit meaner than he would have liked. And Tom should know better than to think that Harry was actually going to let Tom take over to take the situation in hand.

~Fine, fine, if you’re going to be all noble about it, perhaps now is time to practice that bit of magic I taught you the other day?~ Tom suggested.

~I thought you said that was something I should save for an emergency, because I’m so young and it could hurt me to...~ Harry cast about for the word, then came up with, ~Apparate! To Apparate safely!~ He’d long since mastered the art of talking to Tom in his head, rather than aloud. It was a necessary skill, especially since it freaked out both his Aunt and Uncle to see him talking aloud to himself. And no matter how much he disliked them, he didn’t necessarily want to frighten them. It wasn’t as much fun as he’d thought it would be, after all. Also, school was dead boring and easy, and it helped to have Tom to talk to instead of staring at his already completed work.

Harry could feel Tom considering in his head, an odd sensation that he was still getting used to after all this time, and then, ~You are, and it is, but still. You are very powerful, child, and I would like to see if you can do it. Also, it’s a good skill to have in an emergency. Once we know you can do it, that’s one less concern for us both.~

~If you insist,~ Harry muttered, as though discontented. But he knew that Tom didn’t believe him, and he didn’t even believe himself. He was excited! This would be his first time practicing magic on his own, after all, without Tom being in control of his body! Tom had already done so much magic for him, shown him all sorts of transfigurations and charms and runes and the like when he fixed up Harry’s room for him, but that had been Tom using Harry’s body, not Harry trying anything on his own. So yeah, he was a little excited.

He stopped running, then, and closed his eyes and concentrated. He reached into the wellspring of magic that Tom had shown him only a few months ago, and pulled, and opened his eyes just in time to see Dudley’s gang disappear before him. Suddenly he was on the roof, and looking down at them from his new lofty height rather than over at them, and he grinned ecstatically. ~Tom, Tom, I did it! Did you see me? Did you? Were you watching?~

~Of course I was watching, you nitwit. And I did see, and it was very well done,~ Tom murmured, and Harry smiled to feel Tom’s approval welling up within him once more. That was a feeling that never got old.

Now there was just one small problem. ~Tom? How do I get down from here?~

Tom’s chuckling was contagious, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

ooOOooOOoo

Of course the laughter couldn’t last, not when he had to be helped down by the firemen and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon arrived at the scene. Vernon waited until they were in the car, and then he turned in the driver’s seat and glared at Harry, his face turning purple. His spittle flew out and struck Harry in the face when he hissed at him, “Listen here you little freak, if you ever do something like that again-”

Harry took a mental step back, as Tom had taught him to do, and then he was looking over his own shoulder once more as Tom took control. “You’ll what, Muggle? Die, for the crime of angering me? Why yes you most certainly will.”

Harry could feel his face morphing into a sneer, the kind that Tom seemed to wear so well but Harry could never quite pull off, and he giggled mentally. He always looked like an idiot when he tried to match that expression. Maybe it was because nobody could be scary when making faces in the mirror? ~Stop that, child, you’re distracting me,~ Tom murmured, and Harry immediately tried to stifle his giggles. But it was hard to do, when acting as a being purely of thought.

The car screeched into the house’s driveway, and Vernon threw it into park before getting out of the car and grabbing Harry from it as well. He wrenched Harry’s arm viciously as he did so, and Harry was surprised to note that he didn’t feel any pain while Tom was in control of his body. He was sort of glad, because he remembered how badly that sort of thing hurt, but then he felt bad for Tom, who didn’t deserve to be hurt while he was trying to help Harry.

“I’ve had just about enough of you,” Vernon was hissing in his ear as he dragged them along inside the house. “You steal our food, you take up space in our home, you use our clothing, and now you act like this in public? I-”

Vernon cut off, his face going white as Tom squeezed his fist around his heart once more. Harry remembered this feeling from a little over a year ago, when Tom had first taken over his body. He just hoped that Tom wasn’t actually going to kill Uncle Vernon. Harry would feel awful if he did.

“I’ve had just about enough of you, Muggle. So listen to me very carefully,” Tom hissed, leaning over the prone Dursley the way that Uncle Vernon liked to loom over Harry. “You will stop attempting to injure me. You will keep your hellspawn from doing the same. Most importantly, you will let me live in peace. In return for this simple set of behaviors, I won’t kill you. Hurt me again, however, and all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Vernon croaked out, clutching desperately at his chest.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear that,” Tom sang, smirking cruelly.

“He said yes, you monster!” Aunt Petunia shrieked.

At the same time, Harry called out mentally, ~Tom, please!~

Tom released Vernon and stepped over his prone form. “We’re done here, then.”

It was a sign of how far he’d come, magically speaking, that when Harry took back his body he didn’t feel weak at all. He still remembered collapsing when Tom had first used magic in his form. It was nice to know he wasn’t so vulnerable any longer, even if he thought that maybe Tom went a little overboard with his protections.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was eight, and it was Christmastime, and Harry couldn’t stop crying. Tom was so good to him, so nice and kind and... well, a monster to everyone else and Harry had forgotten... he’d really forgotten why Tom had to be such a monster all the time. Now that the Dursleys were... well, they weren’t nice to him, but they didn’t hurt him any longer, it was easy to forget.

~I’ll kill her, Harry,~ Tom was whispering in his mind. ~Rip her limb from limb, destroy her, feed her to her precious dogs. Feed her the bloody dog biscuits, in Merlin’s name, just let me out!~ Tom shoved mightily against the walls of Harry’s mind, but Harry was too well trained, and by Tom himself, to let that happen.

The once-Dark Lord couldn’t break through. “I don’t want you to kill her,” Harry managed to sniffle out, even though he wasn’t quite sure that he believed it himself. He was in his room, thankfully, and the door was closed and there was nobody around to hear him anyway. The Dursleys and Aunt Marge had gone out for an early Christmas Eve supper, to be followed by a midnight service at the local cathedral. The Dursleys weren’t religious, but for whatever reason they always went on Christmas and Easter. Harry had never been invited, so he didn’t understand what the fuss was about.

~Then I won’t kill her,~ Tom answered. ~I’ll just hurt her a little bit. Use some of those darker spells that I haven’t demonstrated for you yet,~ he offered in his most reasonable tone.

“The ones that you can’t show me without a wand because they’re just too much trouble?” Harry asked, because he could remember that conversation from just last month. Not that he was particularly interested in causing excruciating pain for anyone or taking their will away or killing them instantly. All three of those options just seemed... excessive.

~Sometimes excess is a good thing,~ Tom murmured. ~And yes, okay, they are too much trouble for this. At least while you’re so young, anyway. As you grow, as your power grows with you, it won’t be nearly so hard to pull the curses in question off. But... you should at least let me do something to her,~ the Dark Lord wheedled.

It was hard to take him seriously when he whined like a child, and Harry told him so, a smile breaking over his face. Perhaps that had been Tom’s intention all along, because he had to know that Harry wasn’t actually going to let Tom kill anybody. They had a deal, after all. As long as Harry wasn’t actively being injured, Tom wasn’t allowed to hurt anyone. It seemed fair enough, and Tom was good enough to honor it, now that they’d mostly cowed the Dursleys into submission.

~Well, if you’d just give me what I wanted, I wouldn’t be whining at you,~ Tom pointed out. ~But I can feel that I’m beating my mental head bloody against your brick wall of a will. So fine, I won’t kill her, I won’t even hurt her, but may I at least frighten her tonight?~

Harry knew it was a terrible idea, even as he agreed, but he agreed anyway because he adored Tom, and Tom already curbed his most destructive impulses for Harry, so couldn’t he give a little bit as well?

So it was that they wound up in Aunt Marge’s room around three o’clock in the morning, their eyes glowing bright red as they always did when Tom was in control, the illusion of flames flickering around their feet and hands, in a halo on their head and in wings sprouting from their back, and licking over Marge’s sleeping body.

“Marjorie Dursley,” Tom intoned in a deep, gravelly voice that would have frightened Harry if he hadn’t known who it was.

Aunt Marge startled awake, and then she screamed. She kept on screaming as Tom settled the box of dog biscuits she’d given Harry on her stomach, then seemed to fade into the darkness. He left the illusory flames going, and only extinguished them once her lights flicked on and Uncle Vernon barged into the room.

As he crept out, they heard Uncle Vernon asking, “What is it, Marge?”

And all Aunt Marge could stutter out was, “M-m-monster!”

She was gone before breakfast Christmas morning. Harry couldn’t fight down his smug smile as he took his plate up to his room, as was his custom these days.

ooOOooOOoo

Of course, Harry mused, if he’d let Tom kill her two Christmases ago, he wouldn’t currently be stuck in a tree. Of all the places, a tree.

“Really?” he asked himself as he stared in consternation at Ripper the dog, growling fiercely at him. Sure, Ripper was just a small, if vicious, dog, and Harry was nine and should be able to handle this on his own, but...

~My offer stands,~ Tom said cheerily. His litany of laughter had stopped about two hours ago, and the sun was getting ready to set. And Aunt Marge showed no signs whatsoever of calling her dog off.

“It’s a dog, Tom, not really a threat,” Harry said patiently. Tom had, for the most part, stopped offering to kill things for Harry a little over a year ago. He knew that Harry wouldn’t take him up on the offer, knew that the most he would get was a chance to scare somebody a little bit, and there wasn’t even much need for that any longer. The Dursleys were still pretty much leaving Harry to his own devices, minus a few incidents with Uncle Vernon that seemed to be increasing alarmingly in both number and intensity every year. Aside from those, Harry had mostly gotten over the terror of his first few years with them.

And on the few occasions that he did wake up screaming with nightmares about the times before Tom, Tom was always willing to listen and soothe him back to sleep.

~You’ve been up here for five hours, Harry,~ Tom pointed out. ~And as you thought earlier, dear Aunt Marge shows no signs of calling the dog off.~

“You couldn’t just scare him off?” Harry asked, knowing full well that it was well within Tom’s powers to get rid of the dog without killing him.

~I could, but I won’t. If you let me handle this, Harry, I’m going to handle it in my own way. After all, I let you do things the way you wished with Marge last time, and now we’ve wound up with even more trouble from the bitch. I promise you that if you let me do things my way this time, she’ll never have another word to say to us again.~

Harry hesitated still, but then he closed his eyes. This was making more work for Tom, too, and that wasn’t fair either. He didn’t deserve to have to do twice the work just to protect Harry from one stupid old woman. “All right, then,” he whispered, and took a mental step back before he could change his mind.

“I don’t mind protecting you, you know,” Tom said with Harry’s voice, even as he hopped nimbly from the tree. “I just don’t like it when you try and tell me the best ways to do things. Do keep in mind that even though I share your body, I am in fact a sixty year old man.”

~Because that’s not creepy at all,~ Harry muttered, and watched with a sort of horrified fascination as Ripper lunged for Tom. Part of him was begging the dog not to do it, the other was watching in a sort of gleeful trance.

Tom pointed one finger at the dog and Harry watched as a bit of green energy began to form at his fingertip. Ton concentrated fiercely, and then the green light was shooting from his finger and striking the dog. The dog fell over, dead, and Tom smirked. “See? Not nearly so bad as you thought,” he murmured, and then began to move their body towards the house. “And much easier than I’d thought it would be, as well.”

~Wait, what are you doing?~ Harry asked, panicked. ~You said you wouldn’t-~

“And I won’t,” Tom soothed. “I just didn’t think that you’d want to deal with the conversation I’m about to have.”

Considering that Tom’s definition of a ‘conversation’ was to exchange not-so-veiled threats with people, Harry thought that to be a perfectly accurate statement and didn’t protest any longer. They entered the house, where Marge and the rest of Harry’s family had just apparently noticed that Ripper was no longer barking, judging by the way that she’d half stood and the others were looking confused.

“You, boy, what did you do to... what’s wrong with your eyes?” Marge gasped out, suddenly noticing the bright red of Harry’s eyes.

Tom smirked. “My eyes get like this when I’m offended. Or angry. As to your dog, well...” Here his smirk morphed into something more... sinister. Harry still hadn’t mastered that more sinister expression, though he did finally have Tom’s smirk down. Tom had assured him it would be a useful thing to know later in his life. Harry wasn’t sure about that, but was willing to take Tom’s word.

“Y-you! What did you do to him?” Marge sputtered, hands clenching convulsively into fists. She took a single step forward, only to have her brother grab her by the arm. “What?” she snarled, turning on her brother.

 

“You don’t... you don’t want to threaten him, Marge,” Vernon cautioned, looking a little pale at the thought. It was clear that he was remembering the most recent time that he’d confronted Harry when his eyes glowed red like this. He rubbed at his chest absently, and Tom took care to send a wink in his direction, making Vernon blanch further.

“Don’t I?” she asked, her own face purpling as Vernon’s so often did. “Because if he’s done anything to Ripper, I’ll rip the little shit limb from limb,” she snarled.

Harry thought about how eerie it was that Tom apparently sounded like Marge when he was angry. ~That’s a horrifying thought, child, and I will thank you to never think it again,~ Tom muttered. And then, aloud, Tom said, “But Aunt Marge, I didn’t do anything to your dog. I am, after all, a mere child. What could I have possibly done to a beast like your dearly departed Ripper?”

Despite the cocky confidence in his tone, Harry was noticing something off about Tom and...oh. ~Tom,~ Harry thought urgently. Their hands were trembling, and he could feel exhaustion dragging at his body in a way that he hadn’t felt it in years. ~Tom, we’re-~

~I know, child, I know. But this must be done. We’ll be just fine,~ Tom promised, and Tom had never once broken a promise to Harry, so Harry relaxed.

“Dearly... dearly departed?” Marge asked, slowly sinking down into the chair. “What do you... what do you mean?”

“Perhaps he simply couldn’t handle the strain,” Tom said breezily. He began to walk, then, slowly and purposefully towards the stairs leading to the second floor. “Perhaps if you’d called him off sooner, his poor little heart wouldn’t have given out on him, and you wouldn’t have lost your dog,” he threw over his shoulder.

Harry had never felt more guilty than when he heard Marge begin to cry great, despairing sobs. It wasn’t fair, what they’d done to Ripper. Tom shouldn’t have... no, Harry shouldn’t have let Tom do that.

“She wouldn’t have shown you the same consideration,” Tom pointed out quietly as he opened the door to their room.

~That’s what makes us different than her,~ Harry insisted, as Tom changed their clothing into a pair of ratty old pajamas and settled them under the covers. ~If we act the same as her, how can we claim to hate her for the way that she acts?~

Tom was very quiet, and then, in a soft voice that Harry had never heard directed at him, the Dark Lord asked, “Are you accusing me of being a hypocrite?”

For the first time in a very long time, Harry was a little afraid of Tom. It was easy to forget that Tom was a murderer, a monster, when Tom was just protecting Harry. But now, with his voice so soft, and his anger licking at the edges of Harry’s consciousness like flames, Harry was petrified. ~I... no?~ he offered, and knew that if he were in control of his own body, he would be shaking just then. He didn’t like it when Tom was angry with him, not at all.

Tom abruptly returned control of Harry’s body to him, leaving Harry with a sense of bone-deep exhaustion. His eyes drifted closed against his will, even though he didn’t want to go to sleep with Tom still mad at him. Because he could still feel that Tom was furious, and he wanted Tom not to be, and he’d take it all back, he would, really, he hadn’t meant it. His panic was waking him up a bit, at least.

~No, stop, don’t. You need to sleep. And...~ Tom paused, a weighty and unhappy silence that stretched for minutes. Then, carefully, Tom said begrudgingly, ~You may be right. Perhaps I am a bit hypocritical. But I’ll deny that till my dying day.~

Before Harry could say anything cheeky about the fact that Tom had technically already had his dying day, Harry’s eyes were slipping closed and he was falling fast asleep.

ooOOooOOoo

It was Dudley’s eleventh birthday, and they were just back from the zoo, and it was Tom who was surprised for what felt like the first time in Harry’s short lifetime.

~You can talk to snakes,~ Tom was murmuring, dazedly, in the back of Harry’s mind.

It had been a perfectly pleasant trip to the zoo in Harry’s opinion, even when Dudley had noticed him talking to the snake and had begun mocking him for it. Six years of a different Harry and Harry had thought he would have known better. But no, he apparently didn’t, and so Harry had quite easily vanished the glass and trapped him behind it, at the same time setting the boa constrictor in the cage free. That, in his mind, was a perfectly acceptable and harmless prank, considering that the snake in question had already been let out of the cage.

Of course he could tell that dear Uncle Vernon didn’t agree. The man had tried, once again, to get in his face about it, and this time Harry hadn’t even bothered calling on Tom, he’d simply closed his own fist around the man’s heart until he stopped trying to yell. Harry feared that Tom was rubbing off on him, and perhaps he wasn’t exactly the best role model out there.

This thought seemed to snap Tom out of his daze, and he said, ~What do you mean you don’t think I’m a good role model?~ in the most offended tone Harry had ever heard from the once-Dark Lord.

It was sort of adorable, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. ~I mean that you killed my parents, Tom,~ Harry answered, still smiling fondly. ~And you yourself admitted to murdering thousands. Not to mention enslaving your followers and making those nasty bits of your soul that are apparently just lying around waiting to trap someone.~

~You make it all sound so sinister. I, in fact, was a perfectly legitimate Dark Lord. You may not realize this, young man, but all Dark Lords have a certain image to maintain, and I was simply doing my best to further that goal.~

~Oh, piss off,~ Harry objected, laughing aloud. Fortunately the door to his room was closed and warded, and nobody could actually hear him making any noise in there. Tom had taught him how to do that shortly after the Ripper incident last summer, after Uncle Vernon had caught him crying over the dog and Tom had needed to step in.

Tom chuckled as well. ~I fear that you are a terrible influence on me, Harry,~ the piece of the Dark Lord’s soul murmured, suddenly sobering.

~What do you mean?~ Harry asked, a bit unnerved. Tom was... Tom was much older than Harry, and surely much more powerful. He certainly demonstrated a greater control of his magic than Harry could just yet, for all that he’d managed to teach Harry. The thought of him being able to influence Tom was... well, it was staggering.

~I shouldn’t have told you about the horcruxes. About so many things. I’ve made myself vulnerable to you,~ Tom responded. ~You know more about me than even my most loyal followers. I’ve exposed myself to danger with you.~

~No!~ Harry protested. ~I wouldn’t... Tom, I wouldn’t ever hurt you! You’ve been... you’ve been so good to me, so kind, so protective, how could I even dream of throwing that back in your face? I can’t. You... you rescued me, and I... how could I ever throw that back in your face?~

~Sweet, darling Harry,~ Tom was whispering, now, and Harry could feel that warmth of Tom’s approval welling within him. ~You... you are all that I could ever ask for in an apprentice, if only we could get rid of that bleeding heart of yours.~ This last was added with some ire, but that was a far more familiar conversation and Harry smiled.

~Maybe if you’d had someone with a bleeding heart like mine around you wouldn’t have gotten yourself killed in the first place,~ Harry pointed out sweetly, and just like that the years-old argument was begun once more.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was less than a day out from eleven, and quite frankly this was getting ridiculous.

They were stuck on an island; Harry was tired and irritated and above all else he was hungry, which wasn’t helping things at all, and Uncle Vernon had lost his bloody mind. The food that they’d brought wouldn’t feed one of them, much less all four. Especially not considering the appetite of dear Dudley and Uncle Vernon.

~Oh, this is already so far past ridiculous it isn’t even funny,~ Tom grumbled in the back of Harry’s mind. He could feel the Dark Lord’s irritation, and it was making his own that much worse.

It was into the silence broken only by the crashing of waves against the rocks outside that Harry finally asked, “And just what did you think was going to happen?” This was in the sharpest and most irritated tone that Tom had ever taught him, one that he’d never had cause to use before. He rather enjoyed the way his Uncle jumped at the sound of it.

“I beg your pardon, boy?” Vernon snarled back, eyes narrowed in his own irritation. It didn’t take him long to recover from his startled state.

“I said, and just what did you think was going to happen?” Harry repeated, switching to a slightly mocking tone. “I’ve been doing magic all along, you know I have. That’s why you’re so scared of me. And if I’m doing magic, well, it stands to reason that Hogwarts would be contacting me to arrange for my attendance. So again, what did you think was going to happen here?”

~Harry... are you... baiting him?~ Tom asked, a feeling of awe and amusement coming through to Harry.

~Well, he shouldn’t have brought us out here for no bloody reason. I mean, honestly, what did he expect to happen? That Hogwarts was just going to ignore my magic? That they’d be able to keep the school from taking me for whatever reason? I don’t even understand why they’d want to! After all, if I’m gone then I’m out of their hair for months at a time!~

“I think that you should watch your mouth, boy,” Vernon shot back. “I think that it’s late, and you’re tired, and you should go to bed before I do something that I won’t regret later on!” As he spoke, Vernon fiddled a bit with the shotgun in his hands, the warning in his tone obvious.

But Harry was young, and a bit on the innocent side despite having a Dark Lord in his head, and didn’t catch the warning at all. “No, I mean, honestly. I would think that you would want me to go to Hogwarts. After all, once I’m there I’ll be out of your hair for most of the year. I wouldn’t have to come home for Christmas, I wouldn’t be home for Easter, so you’d only see me on summer breaks. Wouldn’t that be ideal for you?”

“I won’t have you learning any more about how to be a freak!” Vernon roared, standing abruptly. “You’re a dangerous enough little monster as it is; I won’t have them teaching you anything else!” The shotgun was up, now, and pointed at Harry.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he didn’t even have to think about it. He took a mental step back and Tom was there, suddenly, taking control. “Drop that weapon, Muggle,” Tom warned.

Harry could feel his nerves, his fear, and Harry himself was frightened. He’d never felt Tom afraid before, and he wondered if a wizard could possibly hold up to a gun. ~We can’t,~ Tom answered, short and sharp. ~If he fires it’s over, so let me concentrate.~

“Oh, Vernon, don’t,” Petunia was whispering, her arms wrapped tightly around Dudley far off in a corner of the shack. Harry didn’t know when they’d woken up, when they’d realized what was going on, and Tom didn’t really care. “Not where Dudders can see,” she added, and Harry flinched at that. She wasn’t asking him to not do it, just to not do it where Dudley couldn’t see. Well, that at least clarified where he stood with her, and it made him feel a little bit sick at the thought.

“No, Pet, I’ve had just about enough of this little freak. He’s a menace and a monster, and I won’t have him doing anything more to hurt his family!” Vernon shouted, his face turning that familiar shade of purple that meant he was utterly incensed.

His finger tensed on the trigger, and suddenly he was holding a cobra. A viciously hissing, writhing cobra. Vernon dropped the snake with a startled swear, and the moment it left his hands it was a shotgun again.

“I’ve had just about enough of you,” Tom snarled. Harry could feel a familiar power building within them, recognized it from the incident with Ripper, and he began, horrified, to push against the wall of Tom’s will. But Tom was in control now, and there was nothing he could do. “You’ve hurt us, you’ve threatened us, and even now that we’ve demonstrated our superiority, you think to destroy us,” he hissed. As he spoke he was advancing on the Muggle, his eyes narrowed and menacing.

~Tom, you can’t, please, you promised!~ Harry was begging, fighting and struggling and wearing himself out just trying to break free of Tom’s hold.

~Hush, child. Close your eyes to this if you must, but it needs to happen. The Muggles have to learn,~ Tom said gently.

~He can’t learn anything if he’s dead!~ Harry wailed.

Tom didn’t respond, merely kept advancing on Uncle Vernon. Vernon was backing up rapidly, so alarmed that he wasn’t even going for the gun. “I didn’t mean it,” he was whispering, over and over again, shaking his head back and forth. “I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t.”

“You did,” Tom hissed. “You absolutely did mean it. You pointed a shotgun at us, and you were going to kill us. Had I not taken the gun from you, we would be little more than a pile of flesh and bone and blood, lifeless at your hands.” The ‘s’ sounds of his words were drawn out, like the hissing of a snake, and Harry was now sobbing uncontrollably in their mind. He knew what was coming, and he couldn’t stop Tom, and he thought maybe he would never trust Tom again for this.

“You’re a freak! You needed to be taught a lesson, but you wouldn’t learn! And so yeah, I was going to shoot you! You would have deserved it!” Vernon blustered, suddenly standing straight and tall. “I’m not afraid of a freak like you!”

“Pity,” Tom murmured. And with no fanfare, a familiar burst of green light leapt from Harry and struck Uncle Vernon in the chest. The man fell to the floor, dead, as Tom watched dispassionately.

Harry was finally able to wrest control back from the Dark Lord, but it was too late. Uncle Vernon was dead, and it was all his fault. What had he been thinking, baiting the man? He was a murderer now, a monster just like Tom. He fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

“You... you murderer!” Aunt Petunia was shrieking, but Harry could barely hear her over the sound of his own sobs.

“I... I didn’t... I mean, I...” he couldn’t even speak, so great was his horror and grief at what Tom had used his body to do.

“You killed my father!” Dudley shouted, and Harry was horrified to hear the shotgun cocking behind him.

“Dudley, no,” he managed to choke out, because he didn’t want to step back and let Tom take control again. Because he knew that Tom wouldn’t be any more lenient this time than he had been with Uncle Vernon, and Harry couldn’t... he just couldn’t...

~Idiot child, he’s pointing a gun at you! He could kill you!~ Tom was shouting. ~I promise I won’t-~

~You promised before! And now... NO! I’d rather die than be a murderer a second time over!~ Harry shook his head, lifted a shaking hand to his face to try and wipe away some of his tears even as he turned to face Dudley. If the other wanted to shoot him, he thought he’d allow it. He deserved it after all, for housing the soul of a monster.

“What, you’re not going to kill me like you killed my dad?” Dudley sneered, and the gun wasn’t even shaking as he pointed it at Harry.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry protested feebly, still shaking with his grief. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded, not even knowing who he was pleading to. His pleas would fall on deaf ears with the remaining two Dursleys, he knew that.

“You’re gonna be,” Dudley snarled, his finger tensing on the trigger.

But before he could fire the shotgun, there was a loud _**BOOM** _ from the door, and the entire shack seemed to rattle on its foundations.


	4. Chapter Three

Dudley was so startled by the loud boom from outside that the shotgun fell from his hands. Fortunately, it didn’t fire when it fell, and Harry breathed a small sigh of relief now that said weapon was out of his cousin’s hands. Yes, he would have let Dudley shoot him, but he wasn’t exactly ready to die.

~Harry, please,~ Tom whispered. ~This is a very dangerous situation, you should let me take over once more. I swear, I swear that I won’t harm any other members of your family, but please, Harry.~

Harry didn’t respond. He was so mad at Tom he could barely think about it, much less actually talk to the man. Tom had... and Uncle Vernon hadn’t even been a threat any longer! The gun was down, there was no way that he would have been able to hurt them! They could have apparated away, and they should have! Then nobody would be hurt, and Uncle Vernon would have had time to calm down! And Tom wouldn’t have... wouldn’t have... Harry cut the thought off ruthlessly. It didn’t matter. Tom had.

~Harry...~ Tom spoke wearily, and Harry ignored him once more. Dudley was going for the gun, and Harry darted forward and grabbed it before Dudley could reach it. He cradled it to his chest and glared defiantly up at his cousin. He had just enough time to be grateful that he was no longer so easily exhausted when magic was cast, because otherwise he would have been terrifyingly vulnerable at this point, and then there was another loud, low _**BOOM**_ from outside.

“What is that, Mum?” Dudley asked. “Is it something the freak did?”

“I don’t... I don’t know,” Petunia whispered, her attention split between the rattling door and the tableau before her. “I think that maybe...”

She didn’t get a chance to finish whatever it was that she had been going to say. With another shack-rattling _**BOOM**_ , the door to the shack caved inward and there stood a... a giant. He was huge, both in height and in girth, with a wild shaggy beard and hair. He looked like a wild thing, and he was carrying a pink umbrella.

~Oh, you must be kidding me,~ Tom said in the back of Harry’s mind, sounding utterly exasperated. ~They’ve sent him to you? Really, Harry, how can you possibly expect me to remain quiet for this?~

~I can’t deal with you right now,~ Harry finally sent back, knowing that Tom would just keep going if Harry didn’t stop him. Tom could be... exceptionally annoying, especially since Harry didn’t actually know of a way to block him from his mind. He wasn’t even sure if it was possible to guard a portion of his mind from, well, itself.

“Here now, wha’s happened here?” the giant in question rumbled, looking shocked. Harry supposed it was shocking, himself on his knees with a gun in his hands, his Uncle dead on the floor, and Dudley looming over him like he was going to beat Harry down himself. And his Aunt, to top it all off, huddling in the corner looking like... like someone had just killed her husband. Which Tom had.

“The freak killed my Dad!” Dudley shouted, and aimed a kick in Harry’s direction.

Harry was so startled he let it connect and felt something in his jaw give way as he fell to the floor. The gun fell from his hands and his glasses shattered on impact, and he couldn’t bring himself to get up. He was a murderer. A monster, just like Tom. How had he not known what was coming? Tom was always so clear in his hatred for his Uncle, he really should have known. He should have stopped baiting his Uncle before he snapped. He should have...

“Now there’s no call to be goin’ ‘round makin’ accusations like tha’! I’m sure yeh’re upset abou’ yer Dad’s death, but Harry’s jus’ a little one like yerself,” the giant was saying, and Harry’s eyes widened and he scrambled back to his knees. His glasses were cracked so he could barely see from one of the lenses, and he thought that he might start crying again. And not just from the pain in his jaw.

~Tom!~ Harry said, desperately. ~Tom, please, what if they...~ But Harry couldn’t even finish his sentence, and Tom simply didn’t respond. “I...” he managed to gasp out, but couldn’t get any further. He could go to prison. He was only eleven, and he could go to Azkaban for this. From what Tom had told him, it would be a nightmare.

“Here now, I ‘spect yeh’ve had a terrible frigh’,” the giant was saying gently, and he entered the shack. He was big enough that he seemed to fill the whole room, and he easily lifted Harry up and tucked him into his arms. “This ain’ a place fer anybody ter be stayin’ overnigh’, not with a body ‘ere. I’ll take yeh ter a nice, quiet motel, and Harry an’ I can talk, an’ I’ll contact Dumbledore an’ have ‘im take care of yer husband’s body,” the giant murmured to Petunia, and Harry let himself rest against the Giant’s rather large chest. It wasn’t as though he had much of a choice.

“I don’t want... I don’t want any freaks doing anything un... untoward to my husband’s remains!” Aunt Petunia shrieked, finally breaking from her corner and wrapping both her arms around Dudley in a protective embrace.

“Nothin’s gonna be done ter yer husband’s remains,” Hagrid answered. “So please, don’ yeh worry ‘bout it. We’ll take care o’ everything.”

As they left the shack on the island and went back out into the violent storm outside, Harry couldn’t help but start crying again. How weak. How embarrassing. But Tom had... he’d betrayed him. Harry had never imagined that Tom would betray him like this. It was awful, to know that Tom had never intended to keep his word to Harry at all.

~That isn’t true!~ Tom burst out, as though unable to keep quiet any longer. ~I would never have hurt your Uncle if he hadn’t... Harry, he was going to kill you! Why can’t you understand that?~

Harry ignored the spirit within his mind. He was too upset, too tired, too betrayed to deal with Tom right then. So when Hagrid murmured something soothing and patted Harry like a puppy, Harry cuddled closer to the giant’s warm body and let himself relax as the giant began to speak of the wizarding world and Hogwarts. It seemed to be the only thing he could do.

ooOOooOOoo

~He’s not actually a giant, he’s only a half,~ Tom murmured once Hagrid had settled them into their very own hotel room for the evening. Hagrid was in the room next door, and Aunt Petunia and Dudley were across the hall. He could hear Hagrid dimly through the walls, talking with somebody, though Harry couldn’t imagine the hotel was actually connected to the floo. It was more of a bed and breakfast, really, with cream colored walls and kitschy art on said walls, and plush carpeting that was softer than the cot Harry had slept on for the first five years of his life.

He toyed with the idea of ignoring Tom still, but discarded it. He was already tired of fighting with Tom, even if... ~You killed my Uncle,~ he said flatly in response. He felt awful, and it wasn’t even necessarily that he felt awful that Uncle Vernon was dead, which made him feel even worse. It was that Tom had... Tom had gone against everything he’d promised Harry, and killed his Uncle when he wasn’t even a threat any longer.

~Yes, I did,~ Tom answered agreeably. ~But Harry, I don’t think you quite understand the situation as well as you think you do. Yes, theoretically I could have Apparated us away from the situation. But what then? When you show weakness to a bully like your Uncle was, they don’t forget it. He would have known that a gun frightened us, and we never would have been able to re-enter their house. You can bet that if we’d done so and tried to return, we’d have been met by another shotgun, or possibly even a bullet.~

~But he would have been alive! He wouldn’t have been dead on the floor of some stupid little hut that he was only at in the first place because of me! He would still be alive to hate me and I-~ Harry sobbed a little and curled in on himself under the covers of the decadent hotel bed. It was big enough that it could fit five of him, and it felt far too big for Harry who was used to his tiny little twin at home. The world felt far too big quite suddenly, and all Harry wanted to do was close his eyes and wake up and have everything be wonderful again.

~Harry, can you trust me enough to take a step back for me?~ Tom asked quietly, and Harry let out a little sob. What if Tom wanted to hurt somebody else? What if... what if... Harry couldn’t stop him when he’d taken a step back. He wasn’t strong enough, and he didn’t know how. So what if Tom did something even worse than killing his Uncle? ~Please, Harry, I promise that I’m not going to take control of your body. I just want you to close your eyes, and take a step back for me. I’d like to try something, and I swear... I swear on my magic that it won’t hurt anybody to the best of my knowledge.~

Something tightened within Harry, a sort of binding on the magic he’d been able to sense inside of him since he was six years old and Tom had taught him to apparate in the first place. But only on part of the magic within him, and that confused Harry enough that he did as Tom asked, and closed his eyes, and took a step back.

There was a moment when, once he’d opened his eyes, everything was still dark and that made him panic. Then a small flicker of light, a candle in the darkness, caught his attention. ~Tom?~ Harry asked, even as he stepped towards the light. He couldn’t tell how far from it he was, but when he thought maybe he was close enough, he reached out to touch it, and then it wasn’t dark at all anymore.

He was standing in a study straight out of a victorian novel, all dark panelled wood with bookshelves filled to the brim with books of all sorts of shapes and sizes lit by flickering candlelight. There were two doors, the one that he’d just stepped through, and another leading to somewhere else. The carpeting on the floor was soft and comfortable, and his bare feet sank into it with each step he took into the room. There was a couch against the same wall with the door he’d come in through, and there was a large wooden desk dominating the middle of the room. At the desk sat a tall man, with black hair greying at the temples and dark red eyes and a satisfied smile on his face. When he stood, he was revealed to be wearing long, elegant black robes over an emerald green shirt and a silver tie. He was very handsome, if a little old. Harry knew him at once to be Tom.

“What have you done?” Harry asked, staring at Tom through widened eyes. He took a single step backwards as Tom took one towards him. It took everything in him not to flee from the room, to return to his body and regain control of himself.

“I thought this a conversation best had in person, so to speak. Never fear; you haven’t actually left your body. This is... well, it’s the bit of the corner of your mind that I’ve claimed as my own. Rather charming, is it not?” His smile, as he spoke, grew gentler, and Harry couldn’t help but respond with a tentative one of his own.

And then he remembered the conversation that they needed to had and the smile fell from his face. “You killed my Uncle when you knew... you knew that it wasn’t what I’d wanted at all!”

Tom sighed, then came forward to kneel before Harry. He rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders and said softly, “Your safety is my priority, Harry.”

“I wasn’t in any danger once he’d dropped the gun!” Harry argued, but he was finding it hard to think with Tom’s hands on his shoulders. He wanted to step closer, to forgive the Dark Lord and maybe finally know what it felt like to be hugged.

“Harry,” Tom murmured, and leaned forward, easily ensnaring Harry into his arms. He held tightly, even though Harry struggled and tried to pull away. “Do you see how difficult it is to remove yourself from my embrace?” he asked, and Harry immediately stopped struggling. “Now think of trying to do that with your Uncle. All he would have had to do was grab us, and that would have been it. We’re not... we’re still young. You’re still young. Your body isn’t strong enough to have apparated away while another person was holding onto us. And don’t tell me that you don’t think he wouldn’t have lunged for us in a moment.”

Harry was relaxing, slowly, into Tom’s hold. “We could have tried,” he said weakly, and Tom pressed a kiss to his forehead. Harry’s eyes closed at the tender gesture.

“We would have failed,” he answered. “I think you know that. I will not lie to you, I didn’t exactly mind killing the man. But I regret the upset that it caused you.”

“I...” Harry closed his eyes and really thought about what he was feeling. “I wish that you hadn’t killed him, and I...” He stopped, shook his head. “I can see how you might have thought it to be the only choice,” Harry finally conceded. He let himself melt the rest of the way into Tom’s arms, then, and rested his head on the Dark Lord’s shoulder.

“I am sorry that I’ve upset you,” Tom offered.

“Thanks for that,” Harry said dryly, even as he wrapped his own arms around Tom. “So this is what a hug is,” Harry muttered after a few moments, breaking the calm of the scene.

Tom chuckled. “Yes, Harry, this is a hug. And now that you know how to visit me in your mind, you may certainly come to me for them whenever you’d like.”

“You’re kicking me out so soon?” Harry protested, his hands clenching involuntarily against Tom’s robe. He didn’t mean to protest, it just came out before he could stop himself. He’d never been hugged before, and it felt so nice that he really didn’t want to go back out into the world where he was all by himself.

“You may stay as long as you wish,” Tom answered, and patted Harry on the head.

It didn’t take long for Harry to fall asleep, standing there in Tom’s arms, and the study faded away around him as it gave way to dreams.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry awoke, it was to the barely veiled feeling of panic coming from Tom. This was... this was not a normal feeling from the once-Dark Lord, and so Harry was puzzled. ~What’s wrong?~ he asked softly as he stared up at the ceiling.

~Oh, Harry, child, I’ve miscalculated so badly I don’t even know where to begin,~ Tom began, mental voice shaky and, yes, panicky. ~I need you to reach out with your magic, the way that I taught you, and tell me if you sense other wizards nearby. Other than, of course, Hagrid.~

Harry closed his eyes once more and concentrated, feeling tentatively around him for the presence of other wizards. At first he couldn’t quite figure out what he was looking for, and then he found it. There was an aura in the room next door with Hagrid, an aura that shone like the sun and nearly blinded Harry. Harry flinched away from that aura and said to Tom, ~There’s somebody else in with Hagrid, somebody that I don’t know. Whoever it is... they’re really bright. Like a sun.~

Tom began to swear within Harry’s mind, so loudly and angrily and _viciously_ that it took Harry’s breath away and made him long for the days when it was okay to curl up under his covers and hide from the world. But only people who were weak did that, and Harry was most certainly not weak. Tom hadn’t raised him to be so. So he forced himself to sit up, and to say to Tom in his most commanding voice (which admittedly wasn’t all that very considering that he was only eleven years old), ~Stop that! What’s this about, then?~

~The ‘sun’ you sense in there could very well be our undoing,~ Tom snarled. ~That, child, is Albus Dumbledore,~ he hissed, with all the inflection of a violent swear, ~and he and I do not get along.~

~Isn’t he the leader of the Order opposing you?~ Harry asked. He thought back to what Tom had told him of the last war. It wasn’t much; Tom hadn’t thought such stories appropriate bedtime material. He’d preferred to focus on more cheerful fare, if classic fairy tales were really any better. But most of those were awfully morbid as well, and Harry had never understood why he wasn’t learning more important things than that.

~Yes, he is. He’s also the Headmaster at Hogwarts, or was when I was killed, and a very important wizard politically speaking as well. He defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald, and nearly became Minister of Magic after doing so. He is truly a force to be reckoned with, and not one that I’d thought you would be dealing with for at least several months yet.~ The panic had faded from Tom’s voice, now, and Harry relaxed a bit. He was vexed now, instead, and that was always better than panic or fear. It was, at least, a more common emotion from the Dark Lord.

~And you think he wants to talk to me about what happened to Vernon.~ It wasn’t a question, because what else could somebody like Albus Dumbledore want with such a young child? The possibilities were few and far between, and Harry almost smirked. ~I bet you’re regretting killing him now, aren’t you,~ he sang at Tom, unable to resist the childish jab.

~Not really,~ Tom shot back, ~Just that I did so in such a painless and easily identified way. I should have given him some sort of fit, made it actually look like the stress had done him in. But no, I had to take the merciful route, and not make him feel any kind of pain. And now Dumbledore is no doubt here to find out how an innocent eleven year old child came to cast a wandless Killing Curse.~

Harry’s breath left him in an irritated huff and he flopped back against the mountain of pillows in his bed. He should have known that Tom would never admit that he’d done something wrong; the Dark Lord never had. ~So what do we do?~ he asked, not willing to fight with Tom yet again about what he’d done. They’d only just gotten over that, and Harry didn’t want to be mad at Tom any longer. It hurt him to be mad at Tom. Tom was, after all, his first and only friend. More than that, really. Tom had practically raised him.

~I’m afraid this is all going to be up to you, child. I can’t manifest in front of Dumbledore; he’ll know who I am right away. And then he’ll most likely kill us, and that will be that. So you, child, are going to put to use the skill of deception that I’ve drilled you on. You’re not going to know a thing of magic, of the wizarding world, of me. You’re going to not make eye contact with the man at any cost, as he is an accomplished Legilimens, and you’re going to be appropriately awed at everything. And hopefully, hopefully, we’ll convince him that Vernon was so very frightening that you accidentally killed him when he pointed the gun at you. So you’re going to have to sell that fear, and sell the Dursleys as the villains of the piece.~

~It’s a lot to remember,~ Harry said hesitantly, ~I don’t know that I can do it.~

~You don’t have much of a choice,~ Tom answered. ~These are our circumstances. We can rise to meet them, or we can be crushed by them. It’s your call.~

~For somebody who got me into this mess in the first place, you’re not very sympathetic,~ Harry complained, as he slipped out of bed. Tom didn’t respond, and Harry supposed that he was busy pretending not to exist in Harry’s head. So he was entirely on his own for this meeting.

Harry took a deep breath, steeled himself, then opened the door to his room. He could do this. He absolutely could do this. He’d trained with Tom for years in the art of deception, and something like this, convincing a doddering old man of something that he no doubt wanted to believe anyway? That should be like getting Dudley to eat a sweet. Easy.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry knocked sharply on Hagrid’s door after taking a deep breath for good luck. Not that he thought he needed it, but it certainly wasn’t going to hurt anything.

There was a moment of silence, and then Hagrid’s door was opening and the giant was beaming at Harry. “Harry, yeh’re here! ‘s good ter see yeh awake, an’ I’m sure yeh’re ready ter get ter Diagon Alley, but I’ve jus’ got someone fer yeh ter meet before we get ter tha’,” Hagrid said cheerily, still beaming at Harry.

“Someone for me to meet? I’m not... I’m not in trouble, am I?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I didn’t... I mean, I didn’t mean to...” He closed his eyes and dropped his head, the perfect picture of remorse and sorrow.

“My dear boy, you certainly aren’t in any kind of trouble,” came a weathered, older, wiser voice. “But Hagrid made some disturbing reports, and I thought it best that you and I clear the air between us before this mess got any further.”

“Disturbing... disturbing reports?” Harry asked weakly. He didn’t even have to pretend not to be nervous, which was great, because he was pretty sure his knees were shaking. He was about to face Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, defeater of Grindelwald, etc., etc., ad nauseam. Literally.

“Come in, my dear boy. We haven’t met, but I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, the school that we certainly hope you’ll be attending in the fall.” Harry chanced a look up, just enough to get a glimpse of a beaming face and a flash of color, and then he was looking back down at the floor, the picture of an ashamed and frightened child. “Your parents attended our school, you know, just like you will.”

“My parents?” Harry asked, trying to sound as though he hadn’t known such a thing. And then a flash of inspiration hit, and he asked breathlessly, “Did you know my parents, Headmaster?” He raised his gaze just a touch, as though unable to keep from perking up at the thought.

“I knew them very well,” the Headmaster answered. “They were very good friends of mine once they graduated from Hogwarts.” Harry could hear a faint smile in his voice.

“Is it... is it true that they died in a car accident because my Dad was drunk and driving?” Harry asked, hesitantly, as though afraid to hear the answer. Of course he knew the truth, he and Tom had that conversation a long time ago, but establishing Vernon Dursley as a liar and a villain could only be to his benefit here.

“In a... dear me, no, that isn’t the case at all!” the Headmaster exclaimed, sounding horrified. “Wherever would you have gotten that idea, child?”

“From... well, Uncle Vernon used to say it all the time,” Harry whispered, as though ashamed to be speaking ill of the dead. “He told me that they were useless drunks that died in a car accident, and that I was lucky that he and Aunt Petunia took me in despite the fact that they passed their bad genes on to me.” He sniffled a bit after he said it, and was grateful that his bangs still hid his eyes because otherwise the Headmaster might have been able to tell that they were dry as the desert.

“No, Harry, your parents were murdered by a very evil man. But, that isn’t what we have to talk about! There is something a bit more important at hand, so why don’t you have a seat, have something to eat. You must be famished!” the Headmaster was saying, and Harry felt a hand on his elbow. He glared down at it for less than a second before wiping the expression on his face.

~Eat nothing!~ Tom snapped, and Harry wanted to growl at him. He wasn’t stupid, he remembered Tom telling him all about truth potions and suggestion serums and all sorts of other nasty things that could be added to his food.

“Actually, my stomach’s sort of upset. I can’t... not after what happened with Uncle Vernon,” Harry whispered, and folded his hands together in front of him once he’d settled into one of the plush chairs. And by settled he meant perched awkwardly, because there was no way he was getting comfortable with somebody who wanted to kill Tom around.

“Of course, my dear child. I understand.” A weathered hand crept into his field of vision and patted his own gently, in a show of sympathy that Harry was very hard pressed not to reject immediately. “I’m sure it was very difficult for you to have your Uncle pass on like that, so suddenly, and so young too.”

“It really, really was,” Harry whimpered. “I just... I... I think I’m a horrible person!” he cried, and dared to look up. The Headmaster was indeed old, with long snow white hair and a long beard of the same color. He wore half-moon glasses and his eyes were grave. His robes clashed with the moment, as they were bright green and yellow and the made Harry want to wince.

“Harry, my dear child, why would you think that?” the Headmaster asked gently. “Of course you’d be upset that your Uncle died, that’s only natural. It doesn’t make you a bad person, in fact, that’s quite the opposite.”

“N-no, it isn’t that,” Harry whispered. “It’s that... I think... I think that maybe I’m the one that killed him!” Harry burst into tears at that point, loud and wracking and rolling his eyes at himself inwardly the entire time. Really? Crying over that... well, he’d done it last night, he could do it this morning as well. But it surprised Harry, because he didn’t actually feel any sorrow over his Uncle’s death. Which made him wonder if the tears from last night were because Tom had broken a promise or because his Uncle had died?

“There, there,” Albus murmured. He was standing next to Harry, then, and patting his shoulder soothingly. “Can you tell me what happened last night?” he asked, gently and kindly.

Harry let his sobs die down to sniffles and he nodded. “I... he was so afraid of something, of the letters that kept coming in the mail, and he panicked and he took us out to that shack on the rock with a shotgun. And he was holding that shotgun, and he got mad at me, and he was pointing it at me, and something in me just... I don’t know what happened. He was pointing the gun at me, and then he wasn’t and he was dead and I... I think it was all my fault!” Harry wailed the last bit, as though he couldn’t keep himself calm any more, and buried his head in his hands as though overcome by his own grief.

“Now I’m sure it wasn’t anything of the sort,” the Headmaster said, and patted Harry on the shoulder once more. “It sounds to me like a tragic case of accidental magic. I’ll have words with your Aunt regarding not holding you responsible for what happened, and you’ll still stay with her and your cousin for the rest of the summer. Now, I believe that Hagrid has your shopping trip to Diagon Alley all planned out. And I’m sure that you’re excited for your first glimpse of the Wizarding World, aren’t you?”

“It’s hard to be excited after my Uncle just died,” Harry pointed out, but then he mustered up a shy smile for the Headmaster. “But yeah, kinda,” he whispered, and ducked his head as though feeling guilty.

As Hagrid escorted him out the door, Harry was amused to hear Tom laughing aloud in the back of his mind. ~Oh, well done, you. Well done indeed.~

~I did learn from the best,~ Harry pointed out, and then focused his attention on Hagrid as the half-giant began talking about the places they’d see on their trip.

ooOOooOOoo

Albus Dumbledore was many things, but one of those things was not stupid. Something smelled rotten about Harry Potter, and he just wasn’t sure what it was. The whole thing with his Uncle just reeked of somebody else’s hand involved, but Albus just wasn’t sure who.

There was the fact that Petunia had reported hearing him call Vernon a ‘worthless Muggle’ on multiple occasions, and the strange one-sided conversations she thought she’d heard from the boy’s room when he was five years old, before suddenly she couldn’t hear anything at all. There was the ‘accidental’ apparition to the roof when Harry was six years old, and the incident with the dog when he was nine. Each event by themselves, except of course the last which had resulted in the death of his Uncle, was completely innocuous and even logical considering the level of power that Harry would one day need to develop in order to fulfil his role in the prophecy.

But together... Albus didn’t know what was going on with Harry Potter, but he knew that he would have to keep a very close eye on the young man in the days to come. He was a weapon, after all, designed to be used against the Dark Lord. And if a weapon wasn’t behaving appropriately, well, he might just have to do something to fix that.

But he certainly hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.


	5. Chapter Four

~Remember that you don’t have any idea what’s coming,~ Tom said in the back of Harry’s mind.

~I know, Tom,~ Harry growled.

~And remember, you’ve never seen magic deliberately cast before, much less done any of your own,~ Tom threw out.

Harry fought down a sigh and growled, ~For the last time, Tom, I know! I know what I’m doing, I know the consequences if I mess up, I know! Do you honestly think that Hagrid’s going to actually suspect anything of us, anyway?~

~No, but you’re a fool if you don’t realize that Dumbledore will be suspicious no matter what,~ Tom shot back.

~I thought you said I did a good job!~ Harry protested, feeling stung. He’d done the best he could, and Tom had seemed pleased with his efforts only a few moments ago. What had changed?

~You did an excellent job. But the fact of the matter is that I haven’t been exactly, how shall we say, circumspect with my presence in you. I would be very surprised were the man not suspicious considering some of the trouble I’ve gotten us into over the years. And for that, Harry, I do apologize. I never meant to make your years at Hogwarts any more difficult than they were already going to be.~ Tom sounded genuinely regretful, and that alone was what stopped Harry from snapping at the man.

~It wasn’t as though you knew that you’d wind up killing Uncle Vernon before I could even make it to Hogwarts,~ Harry said begrudgingly, even if he wasn’t entirely certain that was indeed the case. ~So what do I need to do?~

~You’ll have to be much more careful about when and what you cast, magic wise. It won’t be easy on you, considering that you already know so much of the theory, but we might be able to explain that away by having you purchase other books on magical theory along with your first year texts. I’ll think it over, and we’ll be able to go from there. Now pay attention, I think you’re about to reach the Leaky Cauldron if memory serves.~

“Here we are, Harry,” Hagrid said cheerfully. “The Leaky Cauldron. I think yeh’ll like Diagon Alley,” the half-giant said, and ushered Harry inside the dingy little shop front.

~And remember, you’re probably something of a legend, considering that you defeated me as a baby. Remember to act awed by all the attention,~ Tom said. ~But if you aren’t, and nobody knows or cares who you are, don’t be disappointed. It would be for the best if that were the case.~

~Did you want to take over, and just do all of this yourself? I mean, the red eyes might give away the fact that something’s not quite right there, but by all means,~ Harry offered. He prepared to take a mental step back.

~Do not!~ Tom shouted, even as he was swarmed by several people the moment they realized who Hagrid had with him. Clearly Tom had been right and he was something of a celebrity. Just what he’d always wanted. He was appropriately kind and confused, though, and smiled for the group of wizards, the first group of magical people he’d ever seen. It really was kind of exciting, even if they were all slobbering over him like he was some sort of decadent dessert, he couldn’t lie.

Exciting, yes, but overwhelming. There were so many people, and all of them wanted to say hello to him. They wanted to shake his hand or touch him or… it was weird. ~Tom, seriously, do you want to do this?~ he asked, unnerved by it all.

~No, no, you’re doing... Harry!~ Tom shouted, just as Harry shook hands with the man who would be teaching him Defense Against Dark Arts, according to Hagrid.

“P-p-pleasure to meet y-you, P-P-Potter,” the man stumbled. He was pale, and he wore a large purple turban around his head. And there was something in him that sparked a sense of recognition within Harry, presumably the same thing that had made Tom let out that exclamation of surprise.

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Professor. I can’t wait to take your class, it sounds fascinating!” Harry said, and offered the man a genuine smile. He was a mystery, and Harry liked mysteries very much. Inwardly, however, he asked, ~What is he, Tom?~

~I don’t know. But I think... I think he’s carrying a part of me around with him, just as you are. Which is positively ridiculous, since I know that I wouldn’t have turned somebody like that into one of my Horcruxes,~ Tom sneered.

The scorn in his voice made Harry smile a bit, and it was okay because everybody in the pub thought he was smiling at them. ~Unless it was an accident, like the one you made with me,~ Harry suggested.

~I suppose, though I can’t imagine that I made that much of a mistake.~ The doubt in Tom’s voice would have been enough to send Harry into gales of laughter had they been alone, as it was, Harry was hard pressed not to burst into giggles at the scorn the Dark Lord was capable of.

And then they were being steered out of the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry got his first real glimpse of Diagon Alley. Even all of Tom’s storytelling hadn’t prepared Harry for the magic of his first sight of the Alley, and Harry didn’t even have to fake the feeling of awe that came over him. “This place is... Hagrid, it’s magical!” He added internally to Tom, ~And don’t think that I’m not grateful to you for not spoiling this beautiful sight, Tom.~ Tom, who had shown him some of his memories of classes within Hogwarts, particularly boring ones of History of Magic that had helped Harry sleep on particularly difficult nights, had cared enough not to spoil such a wonderful sight for Harry. It made Harry adore him all the more.

~Every wizard raised in the Muggle world deserves their first sight of Diagon Alley to go unspoiled,~ was Tom’s gently amused response. ~I can still remember the magic of my own, so many years ago. It was an experience I was reluctant to rob you of.~

“It sure is, Harry,” Hagrid agreed with a nod of his wild head. “Now, we’ve gotta get yeh ter Gringotts and then on ter some school supplies fer yeh. We’ve go’ a busy day ahead o’ us, Harry!”

After Harry had a chance to look his fill at just the view alone, Hagrid gently urged him along, presumably in the direction of Gringotts. Harry couldn’t help but be excited, even if he had no idea what sort of state his vault might be in.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry had to fight once more to stifle his giggles at his first sight of the goblins of Gringotts. They were short and oddly shaped and... well, they were funny looking! He supposed, though, that if he hadn’t been expecting to see fierce and easily irritated warriors that they might have appeared more intimidating. And the whole scene wasn’t helped at all by Hagrid emptying his pockets all over the teller’s counter. Which was actually making the teller in question look quite a bit fierce, but Harry still couldn’t help but think it was funny.

~Just so long as you don’t laugh aloud,~ Tom cautioned. ~Goblins may appear to be little more than deformed children, but they’re vicious when crossed. And they have long memories. Trust me, you don’t want to offend a being that has control of your finances, not ever.~

~See, this is why I keep listening to you,~ Harry said as Hagrid finally managed to fish out his key. He sort of wanted to know why Hagrid was carrying some of the things he had in his pockets, such as moldy dog biscuits, but he brushed the thought aside and continued with, ~You’ve already made such fascinating mistakes in life, and every one of them seems to have a story behind it. So instead of repeating the mistakes that you’ve already made, I can just listen to the tales of your own and be done with the whole matter.~ He was smiling carefully as he said it, carefully because said smile was at severe risk for becoming a smirk. And Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived as some of the wizards in the pub had called him, probably didn’t smirk.

~Well, this particular mistake is both one that you never want to make and a tale that is far too old for your young years, so you’ll forgive me not telling you the whole sordid thing just now,~ Tom responded. ~Now, I think that you’ll enjoy the rush of what’s coming next, so pay attention,~ he suggested.

Harry fought down the curiosity always inspired by the phrase ‘too old for your young ears’, knowing that it would do no good to push on the matter, and returned his attention to the world around him just in time for the cart they were now sitting in to take off. Harry let out a cry of delight as they rocketed through a maze of tunnels, Hagrid looking awfully queasy beside him, and the goblin at the helm was grinning as fiercely as Harry. This... this was fun. And another surprise that Tom hadn’t ruined for Harry, which made Harry smile all the more. Because Tom was always so careful to prepare him for the unpleasant things, and always left something fun for him to discover on his own. He loved that about Tom, he really did.

When the cart pulled to a stop, however, he could feel Tom’s confusion and a bit of his displeasure. ~This isn’t quite right,~ he was muttering, even as Harry stepped out of the cart.

~What’s wrong?~ Harry asked, puzzled, as Hagrid and the goblin, Griphook, Harry thought, opened up his vault. A large amount of green smoke billowed out from the now-opened Vault, and Harry’s breath was taken away by the mountain of money inside the vault. Galleons and Sickles and Knuts, all in piles and piles and... oh, how Uncle Vernon would have been jealous of this.

Before Tom could explain, Hagrid was speaking to Harry. “‘s all yours, Harry,” the half-giant was saying. When he launched into an explanation of the wizarding monetary system, Harry tuned him out once more. He already had a fairly good grasp of the odd little system, and what he didn’t understand he could ask Tom about later.

~What’s the matter?~ he asked Tom again, as the feeling of discontent hadn’t yet gone away from the Dark Lord living inside of him.

~There should be more money than this,~ Tom responded. ~And the vault should be much deeper underground. The Potters were an ancient Pureblood family with an ancestral seat on the Wizengamot that you’re going to be able to take once you turn sixteen. This is... this is a drop in the bucket of the Potter wealth. I’m not sure why...~

Harry fought the urge to frown as he took the sack of money that Hagrid handed him, saying that it should last him for a few terms. ~Maybe because I’m not yet sixteen? This could be a trust vault,~ he suggested. ~Or maybe the Dursleys got ahold of the money and spent it all,~ he added, not really all that bothered by the thought. It was just money, after all. Having never had it, he couldn’t imagine that he’d miss it all that much.

Tom chuckled. ~Harry, child, I don’t think that even the Dursleys would have been able to spend all of the Potter fortune, and we both know how they hemorrhaged money at certain points in time.~ Remembering the lavish vacations the Dursleys liked to go on, leaving him to his own devices in the house and accidentally giving Harry a vacation of his own made Harry smile.

They were back in the cart, now, and headed towards whatever Hagrid’s ‘official business’ was, but Harry wasn’t really all that concerned with that. ~Do you think something sinister happened with my family’s vault?~ he asked, curious.

~Probably not,~ Tom answered after a few more moments of silent contemplation. In that time, Hagrid had gone into the vault in question and removed a simple small brown bag, and the cart was already moving once more. Whatever it was had to be something small and magically important for the Headmaster to be bringing it to Hogwarts, which was what he had to be doing with the tiny package.

~What do you think Hagrid took from the vault?~ Harry asked, just a little bit curious now that he’d seen how small the package in question was.

~No clue,~ Tom answered, still sounding preoccupied. ~I think you’re probably right,~ he added as the cart rocketed back towards the surface of the bank. ~I think that’s your trust vault, and the main Potter vaults are still unavailable to you. But just to be certain, once we have a chance and once it won’t look so suspicious, I’d like to do a full accounting of your family vaults. I don’t trust Dumbledore not to have removed certain things that might be beneficial to his Order in the name of the greater good.~

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. ~Sure, Tom,~ he sent back, blinking as they pulled to a stop in the bright light of the Gringotts lobby once more. He hadn’t realized how dim the maze of vaults was until they were out in the open once more. ~Whatever you want, since you’re the old man with all the experience.~ Aloud, he asked, “So where to now, Hagrid?”

“Well, there’s yer robes, and then there’s...” Harry let Hagrid babble on and ignored Tom’s sputtering within his mind, mentally giving himself a point for scoring one on the Dark Lord.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry could feel Tom perking up the moment they stepped into the back room of Madam Malkin’s Robes. He couldn’t see why, it didn’t seem like the type of place that would normally catch Tom’s interest. It was a clothing store, of all things, and he’d never much enjoyed them when they went with the Dursleys. Hagrid had skipped off to the Leaky Cauldron, needing to recover after dealing with the carts in Gringotts, leaving Harry to face the seamstress alone. Well... sort of alone.

~Why are you so cheerful again?~ Harry asked as they were settled into the backroom of the shop, where a pale boy with a slightly pointed face sat as well.

~That boy, Harry, will be a magnificent ally. Introduce yourself,~ Tom commanded.

Harry blinked, not used to such definite commands from Tom, but before he could speak, the other boy was turning to him. “Hogwarts as well, then?” the boy asked, sounding entirely disinterested in the conversation. He had a delicate quality to his features, pale and sort of pretty like a girl’s.

Harry shook off the impression, absolutely certain that whoever he was, the boy wouldn’t appreciate it. “It will be my first year,” he confirmed with a hesitant smile. “My name’s Harry Potter. What’s yours?”

The other froze, a flash of recognition bursting across his face, followed by a quick flick of his strange, pale grey eyes up to Harry’s forehead. Checking for the scar, most likely, which made Harry flush and duck his head to hide it. It was an automatic thing, one that he couldn’t stop himself from doing. His scar was ugly, even if Tom was pretty sure that scar was the physical evidence of his existence within Harry’s mind. Any normal scar would have healed long ago, and it still bled when Tom tried to force Harry to take a step back mentally.

“So you are,” the boy was answering, and there was a slight glimmer of a smile appearing on his lips. “Draco Malfoy. It’ll be my first year as well. Perhaps we’ll be in the same House, though I believe both your parents were in Gryffindor.”

“I’m not sure what House my parents were in,” he lied, because of course he and Tom had discussed it. “But from what’s been mentioned about the Houses to me thus far, I’m pretty sure I’m bound for Slytherin.” From Tom’s description of the house system, Harry was almost positive that would end up. He certainly didn’t feel particularly brave enough for Gryffindor, and though he was loyal to Tom he didn’t think it was enough to send him to Hufflepuff, and he was smart but he wouldn’t call that a defining characteristic. So it would probably be Slytherin, and since that seemed to be what Tom wanted, Harry was okay with that.

Now Malfoy was smiling for real, though it was still small enough to escape notice if one wasn’t looking for it. Or if one wasn’t used to dealing with irritable Dark Lords who didn’t know how to smile without smirking when borrowing Harry’s body. “Then perhaps we’ll be roommates. Although... you don’t know what House your parents were in?”

Harry hesitated. What to say to him? What to tell this other child who Tom clearly wanted him to befriend? Obviously mentioning Tom was entirely out of the equation, at least until he knew more about the lay of the land with loyalties. ~The truth, or a portion of it. You were raised with Muggles, so you don’t know as much about your heritage as you’d like,~ Tom suggested.

~But I’ve had you to tell me things, and I... I don’t want to seem ignorant,~ Harry thought.

~I’ll have you purchase some books about the wizarding world once we reach Flourish and Blotts. Maybe he can recommend some to you, though I doubt it. Either way, your name will carry you through this first meeting, and you can wow him with the second on the train.~

“I don’t...” Harry flushed and looked down, not even having to pretend his to be embarrassed. “I was raised by my mother’s sister. She’s a Muggle, and knows nothing of the wizarding world. So I’m not... I don’t know as much as I’d like to about magic and everything.”

“That’s a shame,” Malfoy answered, and Harry hesitantly peeked up to see a frown on the other boy’s face. “Well, you can certainly feel free to ask me any questions you’d like on the train ride to Hogwarts. I’ll make sure you don’t fall in with the wrong sort.”

“I’d like that,” Harry said, as eagerly as he dared. Was this... was this a real friend? Which wasn’t to say that Tom wasn’t real, but he wasn’t physically real and he was just in Harry’s head and... well, Harry might be a bit excited about that possibility.

“That’s you done, dearie,” Madam Malkin said, interrupting the conversation between the two of them.

Draco hopped down from his stool and held out his hand to Harry. “It’s been very nice talking to you, Potter. I’ll look for you on the train.”

Harry shook the other boy’s hand and beamed at him, unable to stop himself. “I can’t wait,” he responded, and then the other was gone and he was alone in the robe shop. Well, except for Madam Malkin herself, who was fitting him for the Hogwarts robes.

“So just the school robes, then? Nothing for more casual wear?” the seamstress asked.

Harry hesitated. ~Tom?~ he asked, not certain of the right answer.

~You’ll want casual robes if you’re to fit in within Slytherin,~ Tom answered immediately. ~But if you don’t want to make Hagrid wait, we can pick up a catalogue. Malfoy would also be good for helping you pick out the right styles.~

“Just the school robes, I think, and maybe a catalogue if you’ve got one?” Harry suggested. He smiled at Hagrid, who he’d just noticed was watching through the window, and finished his shopping quickly. He didn’t want to make the other wait, after all, he was being kind enough to help Harry along in this. Tom snorted at that, but made no comment, for which Harry was grateful.

Once outside, he asked cheerfully, “So where to next?”

“Well, yeh still need yer books, an’ yer wand, an’ yer potions supplies, an’ summat else I wanted yeh ter take a look at,” Hagrid mused, running his fingers over his beard. “So we’ll do the borin’ stuff firs’, an’ get yer books and supplies, and we’ll go from there.”

Harry smiled, and followed Hagrid into the next stop on their list, the Apothecary. While inside, Hagrid showed him where to get the things he would need for his first year, and Harry fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. ~You didn’t warn me that it would smell so awful in here, Tom,~ he accused.

~My apologies, child. I didn’t think I would need to warn you that dead things and pungent herbs might have a bit of a smell to them,~ the Dark Lord responded dryly. ~But since you’re concerned, Harry, the Apothecary has an interesting smell to it.~

~Smartass,~ Harry thought, and picked up a catalogue for the Apothecary as well. ~Should I be purchasing an owl for all of this ordering I might be doing?~

~Hogwarts has owls for the students to use, and it might be for the best to use those instead. I don’t want your owl to become recognizable, because recognized owls are easy to interfere with. Either way, I don’t think that you need an owl just yet,~ Tom answered.

Harry wrinkled his nose, not necessarily wanting to think about the idea that other people might want to sabotage his mail. He didn’t care for that idea at all. Sure, the Dursleys had never much cared for him, but they’d never actively tried to kill him. Well, except until they had, but Harry didn’t particularly want to think about that, either.

“Bookstore?” he asked Hagrid instead, and didn’t bother to conceal the hope in his voice. A shop full of wizarding books... Tom was an excellent teacher, but Tom could only teach him what he knew. And though Tom knew quite a lot, he didn’t know everything. Particularly, he didn’t seem to know all that much about healing magic, something that had fascinated Harry since he’d heard of the possibilities.

~You’re too young for most of the books on healing,~ Tom said, in a long-suffering tone that made Harry smile. ~But if you’d like, I’m sure there are beginners books on the subject. It will go right over your head, since I haven’t exactly taught you much of charms work. There was no point to it with you not having a wand.~

~You taught me all kinds of other things,~ Harry protested, as he browsed the stacks of books. ~I’d really like to read up on some of the other forms of magic that you don’t place much stock in, if that’s alright,~ he added, shyly. He didn’t like disagreeing with Tom, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of being able to heal wounds really pulled at him. He didn’t even know why, not really.

~You’ll have all kinds of other things to study. Potions work, perhaps, and defense work, and charms, and transfigurations. You’d be better served getting a jumpstart on your school work,~ the Dark Lord grumbled. ~Not to mention, even though you already know quite a bit about it, appearing to brush up on Pureblooded etiquette would be wise if you’re going to survive in Slytherin.~

He didn’t respond when Harry chirped, ~But that’s what I’ve got you for!~

But given Tom’s extreme dislike of the thought of Harry taking on too much work at once, Harry settled for just his school books, two books on wizarding history, an etiquette book that looked entirely too thick and unpleasant and therefore had to be the right one, and one single book on healing magics. A beginners book at that, so that Tom couldn’t complain that he was jumping off into the deep end.

“Yeh’re int’rested in healin’ magics, then?” Hagrid asked, looking over the books in Harry’s hands.

“It just seemed to jump out at me,” Harry answered with a sheepish shrug. “And good etiquette is always important,” he added, noticing the way that Hagrid’s eyes strayed to that particular title.

“‘f yeh say so,” Hagrid responded doubtfully.

They paid rather quickly, then, and once outside Harry asked once more, “So, where are we headed now?”

“Well, there’s still yer wand ter get yeh, but firs’ I wanted ter get yeh yer birthday presen’,” Hagrid said, and began steering them across the street.

“Oh, Hagrid, you don’t have to do that!” Harry exclaimed, although his heart was racing at the thought. He’d never... he’d never had a birthday present before, and he couldn’t stop the hope that maybe Hagrid was going to get him one. That would be... that would be pretty magical, Harry thought, and a great end to this first day in the magical world. Well... middle, but yeah.

“I know, I’ll get yeh an owl!” Hagrid was saying, and Harry winced.

“But I...” And then he stopped, because he didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“But yeh...?” Hagrid trailed off and looked at Harry expectantly.

“I don’t have anyone to write to,” Harry whispered, and looked down and away, as though ashamed. “I mean, you saw how my Aunt reacted when... with Uncle Vernon, and I don’t really have any friends from Muggle school that I‘ll be keeping up with.” He didn’t have anyone to write to, and Tom had already said that the school had owls he could use. And Tom definitely didn’t seem to want him to have an owl.

Hagrid frowned. “Well, then let’s go an’ check out the other magical pet store,” he suggested, and led them over to the Magical Menagerie. “Yeh can bring a toad, a cat, or an owl, an’ I don’ ‘spect yeh want a toad,” Hagrid commented.

“A cat... a cat sounds wonderful,” Harry breathed. He couldn’t help the gratitude welling within him at the thought of having his very own pet, and his very first birthday present all at once, and he beamed at Hagrid, unable to stop himself.

~I would have bought you a present if I could,~ Tom whispered, sounding regretful. ~I would have bought you more presents than Dudley would have known what to do with.~

~I know that, and I thank you for the thought,~ Harry sent back. He knew that if Tom had a physical body, he would most likely have spoiled Harry rotten. Harry thought it was sweet, and there was a large part of him that regretted that Tom didn’t have his own body. Of course, had Tom never become a part of Harry’s mind, he doubted that they would be on such friendly terms. So a large part of him remained glad that Tom existed only in his mind, because that also meant he was all Harry’s.

ooOOooOOoo

About twenty minutes later, Harry was carrying a massive silver tabby kitten with the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen on an animal. He was thanking Hagrid rather profusely, unable to stop himself from doing so. It was so exciting, having a kitten of his very own! He couldn’t stop from reaching his fingers in her carrier and allowing her to brush her silky head against them.

~She’s going to be huge, Harry,~ Tom was saying, amused, and Harry couldn’t stop the grin. Tom had repeated that several times, trying to dissuade Harry, but Harry didn’t care. He wanted her to be big. And strong, so that she could take care of herself. He had no doubt that Dudley would torment her if he could during his last month there before school started, and during the summers to come.

And then they were at the wand shop, which Harry had actually been rather well prepared for. Tom had warned him that the proprietor of the shop was an eccentric old man that would likely take quite a few tries to match him to a wand. So he was ready for the creepy shadows within the shop and the creepy old man that measured his wand arm, and the several different attempts and failures that came when he tried several different wands. But then...

The moment he felt the holly wand with the phoenix feather core touch his fingertips, he knew that it was his. There was just such a feeling of... of rightness, of perfection, and it shot a fountain of green and gold sparks the moment he closed his fingers around it.

“How curious,” Ollivander was murmuring, even as he began to ring them up for the purchase of his wand.

“What is?” Harry asked, curious himself.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother -- why, its brother gave you that scar.” (1)

Harry tuned out the rest of what Ollivander was saying, handing over his money when prompted. ~Did you hear that, Tom? We have brother wands! Isn’t that fascinating?~

~It is, Harry,~ Tom murmured in response.

~Does that mean anything special, do you think?~ Harry asked eagerly, always desperate for a little bit more knowledge. He’d never known there was such a thing as a brother wand before, and he was fascinated by the thought.

~I’m not sure. We’ll have to do some research on the matter once we have some time, and a library readily available to us,~ Tom answered thoughtfully. It wasn’t often that the Dark Lord wasn’t aware of something, and Harry fought to contain his grin at the thought of researching something alongside Tom rather than just learning it from him.

ooOOooOOoo

Hagrid took him to dinner after that, and it was over dinner that Harry hesitantly asked, “Do you think you could maybe tell me a little bit more about how my parents died, Hagrid?”

~Harry! I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, I think that you’re still too young to hear about this.~ Tom was scowling in his head, Harry could hear it in his voice.

~I think you’re just afraid that I won’t like you anymore once I’ve heard about it,~ Harry shot back. That Tom was silent was something of a damning point in Harry’s favor. He knew the way that Tom’s mind worked, knew exactly what Tom was thinking. That it was one thing for Harry to know, academically, that Tom had killed his parents, but another thing entirely to know the exact way in which it was done. Harry wasn’t entirely sure that he could even discount Tom’s fear entirely, but he thought that maybe Tom was being a little ridiculous. After all, the man had just killed his Uncle, and Harry wasn’t angry with him over that any longer, was he?

~But your Uncle was a pig and the worst sort of Muggle,~ Tom shot back. But he didn’t protest any longer.

Hagrid seemed hesitant as well, but after Harry had watched him patiently for several moments, and after he’d taken a large gulp of his drink, Hagrid began with, “Well, Harry, it was like this...”

ooOooOOoo

On the train ride home, Harry was largely silent considering how worn out he was from his day. But, he couldn’t fall asleep on public transit so he stirred himself to ask Tom, ~Really, Voldemort?~ he asked for the first time since leaving the restaurant.

~Do I really have to discuss my name choice with you?~ Tom hissed, embarrassment coloring his voice.

~I mean, Flight from Death? That’s your great and evil name?~ Harry teased. He couldn’t help it; the name was perhaps the most ridiculous he’d ever heard. And he’d listened to Dudley trying to name his action figurines when he was little.

~It was an anagram!~ Tom protested. ~It matches all the letters in my original name perfectly! That you don’t understand the nuances of choosing an appropriate name to strike fear into the hearts of my followers is certainly not my fault!~

~Of course, Tom,~ Harry agreed. ~Whatever you say,~ he added with the ease that came with a great amount of practice appeasing once-Dark Lords.

Tom huffed, and the rest of the train ride back to #4 Privet Drive was spent in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Quote taken directly from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Page 85.


	6. Chapter Five

The month leading up to his trip on the Hogwarts Express was... quiet. Very, very quiet, and very uncomfortable, and Harry hated just about every minute of it. Aunt Petunia couldn’t even look at him, and Harry wanted so badly to apologize to her for letting Tom get control of him that night. But he didn’t, because Tom had said it would be best if he didn’t bring the incident up again.

And Dudley stared at him as though he was a monster. This was nothing new, more like an extension of the way that Dudley stared at him like he was a freak before the incident on the shack, but now, now there was a sense of malice to it. Harry knew that if Dudley had ever truly thought him vulnerable, Dudley would have taken his vengeance on Harry. That made Harry feel all the worse, because for all of his faults, Dudley had never been willing to commit murder. At least, not that he’d been able to see.

Due to their incredibly obvious discomfort, Harry had pushed aside his own wishes and not attended Uncle Vernon’s funeral. Tom hadn’t been able to understand why Harry would want to go in the first place, so he hadn’t pushed Harry to go. And Harry... despite the fact that he wanted so badly to pay his final respects to his Uncle, such as they were, he hadn’t thought it appropriate to interrupt Aunt Petunia and Dudley’s chances to mourn. So he’d stayed away.

What he did do, despite all of Tom’s protests, was leave the house late one night about a week after the funeral. It hadn’t taken much effort to find the location of Uncle Vernon’s grave, and it was relatively easy to walk to. Petunia hadn’t wanted Vernon to be too far from her in his eternal rest. Even if it hadn’t been Harry knew he would have spent the money for a bus ticket. This was actually important to him even if Tom couldn’t understand it.

Harry stood in front of his Uncle’s grave that night, an odd mixture of glee that he’d managed to outlast the awful man, and sorrow that Tom had felt the need to kill him. And remorse, for having ever let Tom out in the first place. Uncle Vernon had to have been so terrified of him... But that hadn’t been Harry’s fault. He hadn’t ever done anything to deserve their hatred in the first place, and it was time that he realized that.

He should pity the man, rather than hate him. ~Why?~ Tom asked, sounding frustrated. He’d been silent up until that point, willing to let Harry have a few moments worth of peace to look upon his Uncle’s grave, but that apparently wasn’t going to last.

~Because. He’ll never know magic, he’ll never move on from this. He wouldn’t have even if he was alive. We should pity people that can’t move on from where they’re stuck,~ Harry sent back. Tom didn’t argue, which from the once Dark Lord was almost as good as a concession.

Harry left Vernon’s grave that night with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

ooOOooOOoo

Now that he was no longer feeling all that guilty over Vernon’s death, Harry put it the entire mess out of his mind and forced himself to focus on the things he had to learn about the wizarding world. There was so much to learn, and so little time before Hogwarts that he found the remainder of the summer to be incredibly busy. Yes, he did in fact have the vast majority of wizarding etiquette down, but now came the real challenge: learning to pretend like he was just learning. And on top of that challenge he was memorizing the contents of his first year books. The last thing he wanted was to be caught off guard later in the year. Not that he would with Tom there, but still...

And then, of course, there was the naming of his kitten. She was adorable, and perfect, and quite the fierce little warrior too. Dudley had, as Harry had suspected, tried to menace the little one, and she’d responded in kind. Dudley had quite the set of scratches on his hands and cheek for about a week after that little mess. It was that incident, the day after Harry had brought her home, that had led to his conversation with Tom regarding the cat’s name.

~So what are you going to call her?~ Tom asked, sounding bored. ~Something like Mittens, perhaps, or Soot? Oh, I know! Whiskers!~

Harry wrinkled his nose. ~You’re just jealous that you don’t have a cat,~ he muttered. ~And I’m not giving her a stupid name like that. I’m going to find my beauty a name worthy of a goddess.~

Of course, once he’d made the claim there was nothing for it but to root through Dudley’s old things (still making their way into his rather empty closet after all these years), until he found one of Dudley’s old books on the legends of gods and goddesses of times past. It had been a gift from a well meaning friend that had quickly found themselves out of Dudley’s circle of acquaintances. Dudley had no need for such things as books, after all.

“What about Artemis?” he asked the cat, and she merely continued to paw disinterestedly at a stuffed mouse Harry had purchased when he’d gotten her in the first place. “Athena?” he offered, only to have her roll on her back and ignore him some more. “Diana?” he tried, and got nothing still. “Frigga?” might have been nice, because she had all the attitude of a queen, but no luck there. He thought the name “Hecate?” rather appropriate, considering that she was to be a wizard’s cat, but the cat in question was entirely unresponsive to that name. He continued flipping through the alphabetical list of names and job descriptions, calling out several to the entirely uninterested cat, but nothing really got an appropriate reaction from her until he reached, “Minerva?”

The kitten mewled at him, rolling onto all four paws and taking a few steps forward to rub her head against Harry’s hand. “You like that one, do you?” Harry asked, excited. ~See, Tom, I’ve found her a name truly worthy of a goddess!~

Tom was snickering in his head. ~Oh, yes, absolutely you did.~ He chortled for a bit longer, and when Harry didn’t seem to get the joke, gasped out, ~You... you really don’t know?~ practically in hysterics.

~Don’t know what? That you’re making no sense?~ Harry asked, acidly. ~I’m calling the cat Minerva,~ he said firmly, and Tom lost it once more.

Harry couldn’t help but smile along with him, Tom’s own laughter pulling him into a better mood simply by existing. It was so hard to make the great and powerful Lord Voldemort laugh that Harry felt rather accomplished in doing so, even if he had no idea what it was that Tom found so amusing.

He imagined that he would find out later, and most likely at the worst possible time. And Tom would probably be laughing then, too, since that was just the kind of humor that Tom enjoyed.

But that was okay, because at least Harry hadn’t been so stupid to name himself ‘Voldemort’ in an effort to be feared.

ooOOooOOoo

~I still don’t understand what’s so funny about the Minerva’s name,~ Harry muttered. He’d been trying to convince Tom to explain the joke to him since he’d given his cat her name, but hadn’t had any luck. Now, two weeks had passed and he was finally on the train to Hogwarts.

He’d already found a quiet compartment on the train, having arrived around twenty minutes before the train was scheduled to depart and gotten his seat. He was excited, waiting for the train to start moving, and hoping that Draco would maybe come and visit him. He’d like that, since Draco was his first... acquaintance. Friend, if he was feeling daring. Bugging Tom about the joke was a good way to distract him from his excitement.

~I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. If not now, then I’m sure you’ll get it several years down the line,~ Tom answered, unconcerned.

~Whatever,~ Harry said with a sigh. He pulled out one of his books, a more interesting one on wizarding history that spoke of past Dark Lords and the battles between them and the Light. He hadn’t gotten up to the part about Tom... Lord Voldemort, but he was sure that it would be every bit as fascinating as the others, if not more so. After all, he had Tom’s soul inside his head. The first book had been both dry and informative, but had unfortunately stopped just before reaching the tale of Grindelwald, which meant that it hadn’t even glanced at Voldemort’s reign.

~I still wish that you weren’t so eager to learn about what a terrible person I was,~ Tom complained.

~And I still think that you have nothing to fear. If I’ve put up with you in my head for this long, let you terrorize my family and murder my Aunt Marge’s dog, and let you kill my Uncle, and forgiven you for all of that? Then yeah, I think you have nothing to worry about,~ Harry ground out, a bit tired of reassuring Tom all the time that he wasn’t just going to... to... well, it wasn’t like he could just ignore somebody living inside his head anyway, was it?

~Well if you’re tired of me,~ Tom began, sounding highly offended, but was interrupted by the compartment door sliding open.

“Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full,” the redhead who’d just entered asked, looking rather unhopeful.

“No, by all means. I think maybe somebody else might be joining me, but he’s just one other so I don’t see why not,” Harry invited with a smile. He closed his book, then, and lowered it on his lap. Here was another wizarding student, a first year by the looks of him. He might be a new friend in the making! It was sort of wonderful to be out from Dudley’s shadow like this, where he could make friends and not worry about them being run off.

~Harry,~ Tom complained, ~you can’t just let any and all riff raff make friends with you. Do you have any idea what that most likely is?~

~A first year student just like me?~ Harry offered, knowing that wasn’t the answer that Tom was looking for.

~You... argh!~ Tom fell silent within his mind once more, and Harry turned his attention to the boy in question. If Tom couldn’t even bother to be coherent in his irritation then Harry didn’t see why he should pay him any mind. After all, it wasn’t like Tom paid attention when Harry was sputtering indignantly at him. And then, after a few moments of silence, Tom muttered, ~I suppose it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you made friends with a Weasley. I mean, at least you’d be able to get information out of him on the movements of the Order, once the war heats back up.~

It was statements like those, so rarely uttered but always remembered, that made Harry wonder just what Tom’s plans for him were. But he didn’t have to worry about it now, so he distracted himself by studying the redhead across from him. Eventually, after several moments of awkward silence, Harry asked, “So you’re a first year like me? Are you excited?”

The boy in question shrugged. “I guess. I’ve already heard loads about it from my brothers. I’ve got five of them all ahead of me in school, three there right now with me. All in the same house, the house that I’m probably going to. It’s going to be miserable,” he finished with a despondent sigh.

Harry let out a sigh of his own. To have a family and be willing to throw it away... this kid didn’t know what he had. “It must be nice, having such a big family,” he couldn’t help but say. He fought down his own sense of wistfulness with little success.

“Ha, nice! It’s a right bloody pain, it is. Can’t ever do anything without hearing how one of my older brothers did it once before, and better. It’s... it’s miserable,” the redhead muttered.

Harry frowned. “At least you have brothers to follow in the footsteps of,” he said, and then immediately felt that he shouldn’t have said it. Mostly because Tom was cackling in his head, and making snarky comments about, ~If that’s your idea of making friends, child, I don’t want to see you make an enemy.~ He looked up at the ceiling and blew his bangs back with an irritated huff of breath, only to hear a gasp from the redhead in the car with him. “What?” Harry asked, looking back at him once more.

“You’re... you’re Harry Potter!” the redhead stumbled, looking shocked. “I didn’t... Mum didn’t say that you’d be coming to school with us this year! Is that... was that the scar?” he added in a hushed whisper.

~I changed my mind. I don’t think I want to make friends with this one,~ Harry muttered, a hint of derision entering his voice. He didn’t want to make friends with somebody only interested in his scar. And this one... this Weasley seemed so ungrateful for the wealth of things that he did have that it made Harry a little sick. He couldn’t imagine not wanting a family..

~You certainly don’t have to,~ Tom responded. ~But I think that you’ll find him to be beneficial as at least an acquaintance in the long run, if not as a friend. And as far as friends on the more phoenix-oriented side of things go, a Weasley isn’t too terrible a choice. At least he’s a pureblood, and no doubt at least somewhat educated in wizarding culture even if it is just to know what rules to break.~

The entire speech from Tom took less than a second to the rest of the world, and Harry offered the redhead a small smile. “That’s it,” he whispered, and ducked his head. “But you have me at a disadvantage. I’m Harry Potter. What’s your name?”

“Call me Ron. Ron Weasley. It’s great to meet you,” Ron said enthusiastically. “You think maybe we’re gonna wind up in the Gryffindor together?”

~No.~ Tom said flatly.

“Probably not,” Harry answered, forcing himself to sound regretful. “It sounds like, from what I’ve learned of the houses, it’ll be Slytherin or Ravenclaw for me. I’ve already got a friend who might be going to Slytherin as well, so I’m sort of looking forward to it.”

“Oh,” Ron muttered, looking disappointed. He was distracted by the witch offering up snacks from the trolley, and for a moment looked like he might be perking up a bit, but then he deflated abruptly.

~Weasleys are poorer than beggars. Buying him food might help things along,~ Tom suggested. ~Food always helps with children of your age.~

~Are you saying that I’d be anybody’s friend if they offered me food?~ Harry asked as he went out to the trolley and decided on several of everything. After all, Tom had never managed to find a way for him to try real wizarding food, and it was a little exciting to think about all the varieties.

~Yes, that’s pretty much it exactly,~ Tom answered. Harry could almost feel him rolling his eyes.

So Harry mentally rolled his eyes right back at the Dark Lord within his head before returning his attention to the Ron, who was eyeing his stash with something like envy. “Would you like some?” Harry offered, and held out a pasty.

When Ron took it with a smile, Harry had to concede that Tom was probably right. He felt as though maybe he’d just cemented another friendship, and he was excited at the thought even if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure about Ron’s viability as a real friend. So what if Ron had a few gaps in his social graces that needed smoothing over. Nobody was perfect, and Harry could work with that.

ooOOooOOoo

It was shortly after they’d finished their snacks and another boy had come into the compartment seeking a lost toad that there was a knock on the door once again. Without waiting for a response, the door slid open revealing Draco, as well as two hulking brutes that reminded Harry an awful lot of Dudley. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of them, but fought down the urge to do anything else.

“Draco,” he offered instead, with a nod of his head.

The boy blinked, as though startled, and Harry didn’t need to hear Tom’s irritated hissing in the back of his mind to know that he’d just messed up. Malfoy had never given him permission to call him by his given name.

~On the bright side, at least now you don’t need to work too hard on faking not understanding wizarding etiquette,~ Tom grumbled. Harry could have shot himself. Tom had worked so hard drilling those lessons into his head when he was little, and the first chance he had he’d blown it.

He opened his mouth to apologize, both to Tom and to Draco, though the latter wouldn’t realize it was directed to another person as well, when the other boy smiled at him. Well, sort of. The expression wasn’t quite a smirk, but it wasn’t a full-fledged smile either. It was the best he’d get while they were still tentative allies at best.

“Harry,” he said, and nodded right back. Scratch that, then, because if Draco was willing to allow the use of his first name, he already counted Harry as a friend. Or was willing to pretend like it for long enough that Harry could convince him. “I’ve been looking for you the entire time we’ve been on the train. I see that you’ve already fallen in with some riff raff.” Draco looked Ron over with a sneer firmly in place on his face, his nose wrinkling at the sight of Ron’s less than immaculate robes.

Ron’s face was turning red, and he was clenching his fists in a gesture of hostility. “Who do you think you’re calling riff raff, you Death Eater in training?”

Harry frowned. ~Tom?~ he asked, wondering what the best course of action would be. Of course the Malfoys, a traditionally Dark family, would not get along with the Weasleys, who were traditionally Light. This could be a disaster in the making. ~Is there a specific reason they don’t get along, or is it just the aforementioned Dark versus Light thing?~

~Blood feud,~ Tom said flatly, ~and one that I’d forgotten all about. Damn it all, now you’re just going to have to scrap the plan for the Weasley boy’s friendship. It won’t work, not with both of them. And Draco is by far the better option in the long run.~

But Harry, who had found that when Ron wasn’t whining about his older brothers was actually a very nice boy, didn’t quite like that idea. There was something about Ron, something that he couldn’t explain, that made him want to be Ron’s friend. It was similar, but not quite the same as the thing that made Harry need to be Draco’s friend, and he couldn’t explain either thing in a satisfactory way.

~What was the feud about?~ Harry asked, even as he opened his mouth and said, “Ron was just explaining the marvel of chocolate frog cards to me,” and pretended not to notice Draco’s sneer or Ron’s red face. “Do you know that I’ve never seen candy that moves before?”

“I would imagine that the Muggles haven’t got anything similar,” Draco began, “But Harry, please, I’ve a car waiting for us a little further up in the train, where I can introduce you to some more... respectable members of our society.”

Ron was turning an alarming shade of red in the face, but before he could say anything Harry blurted out, “But I think Ron’s perfectly respectable,” hoping that it would distract Draco.

It did, as Draco frowned in response. “No,” he said flatly. “One of the Weasley family’s many spawn does not now, nor has ever, counted as respectable. I don’t think there’s a single thing you can do to convince me otherwise.”

“He was just saying how much he resents the rest of his family,” Harry offered, seeing maybe a way through this mess.

~Oh, nicely done, Harry,~ Tom praised, apparently also seeing where Harry was going with this.

“Now wait just a minute here,” Ron interrupted, face almost turning purple.

Draco’s eyes had narrowed in consideration. “Is that what you were saying then, Weasley?” he asked, sounding just a bit more charitable than he had.

“That wasn’t what... I mean, that was what I was saying but I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I meant that I...” A look passed over Ron’s face then, swift and calculating and gone in a flash. But Harry knew what that look was, mostly because he’d seen similar expressions on Tom’s face. It was a look of consideration that had been quickly wiped off because the one doing the considering didn’t want others to know that was what he was doing. “Yeah, that’s what I was saying,” Ron finally settled on.

“Well, then, perhaps if you wind up in Slytherin with Harry and I we can teach you about the proper ways to behave,” Draco said, and settled down in one of the empty seats of the compartment. Neither of the two boys he’d brought made any move to do so, and he waved them out of the carriage with an airy, “Go stand guard or something, won’t you?”

“Yessir,” they both muttered, and shuffled back out of the compartment. Harry could only just see the outline of them both standing outside the door, apparently doing as Draco asked and standing guard. When somebody else approached their compartment moments later, he saw them rebuffed by the two in question.

“Who’re they?” Harry asked, and winced when Tom hissed again. The contraction. He shouldn’t use those when speaking formally to another, and as he’d only just made friends with both Ron and Draco, the occasion was still technically formal. These were things that he wouldn’t be able to forget within Slytherin. Not if he wanted to present the proper face to the world. Harry didn’t necessarily care as much about that as Tom did, but since Tom did care, Harry would try his best.

“Crabbe and Goyle. They aren’t bad as far as keeping the rest of the school off of us, but they’re hopelessly thick. Father wants me to keep them with me, as a safety measure. Safety against what, I’m sure I don’t know, but there you have it,” Draco answered. Draco looked down and away very briefly, giving the lie away for what it was. Draco knew exactly what Crabbe and Goyle were there for, and he didn’t want to say. Harry stored the information away for analysis at a later date.

“Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place in the world,” Ron protested. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit paranoid, that your father wants you under guard?”

Harry was starting to get used to spotting flashes of expression that nobody seemed to want him to be able to catch. Something passed over Draco, just then, a darkness that took Harry’s breath away, and then it was gone in a flash. “Safe maybe for Dumbledore’s pets. I can assure you that I won’t be one of those,” Draco answered with a haughty tone to his voice.

Ron was going red in the face again. “Now hang on just a moment,” he began. “You can’t just go about saying things like that about the Headmaster! He’s one of the greatest wizards alive!”

Draco’s sneer turned ugly, and before another argument could strike up Harry interrupted with, “Ron, weren’t you saying that you had a wizarding chess set that you could show me? I’ve never seen one before, and they sound fascinating.” Harry had a feeling that he was going to be doing a lot of interrupting arguments, especially if the three of them did wind up in the same house. Ron seemed to have a bit of a temper on him, and Draco seemed to delight in needling that temper. It was a good thing that he’d had a little bit of practice dealing with that sort of nonsense with Tom and his Uncle over the years.

Of course, the two circumstances weren’t entirely the same. Tom, after all, was mostly in his head and when he wasn’t in Harry’s head Harry had little to no control over him. So it was more that he was used to stopping himself from repeating Tom’s snarky comments. But still, it seemed to be good training for this.

~Did you really just compare your Uncle and I to a set of immature eleven year olds?~ Tom asked, sounding scandalized.

~If the shoe fits,~ Harry answered with a mental shrug. Tom sputtered incoherently in the back of Harry’s mind while Harry returned his attention to Ron and Draco.

“Yeah, I’ve got a set in my bag,” Ron said, derailed from his earlier train of thought. And then, he looked at Draco and flushed a bit. “It’s a bit worn,” he added, apologetically.

“That’s quite all right. You can’t help the circumstances of your birth,” Draco allowed with a nod.

Harry had to bite down a smirk, because it was clear that Draco had no idea just how condescending he sounded. But then, he was pretty sure that Draco wouldn’t care if he had known.

~No, you’re probably right about that,~ Tom threw out there, regaining his coherency.

The chess game was fascinating, but Harry got a little bored with it a few minutes in. ~Say, Tom, don’t think for a moment that I forgot that you didn’t answer my question,~ he said, even as he pretended to be paying very close attention to said chess game. It was sort of neat, actually, watching the pieces move by themselves on command. Even if he didn’t quite understand all the rules of chess.

~Which question?~ Tom asked innocently. ~I don’t recall ignoring any of your questions.~

Harry fought down an irritated hiss. ~You did so, and you know it. The Malfoy and Weasley blood feud, what’s that nonsense about?~ And then he hesitated, and asked, ~And what’s a blood feud, anyway?~

~Blood feuds are foolish ideas that wind up wiping entire pureblood lines. They’re ridiculous, and I long ago forbade my followers from acknowledging old ones in any way. There are few enough purebloods left that it’s foolish for us to kill one another off over insults centuries past,~ Tom ground out. ~And the Weasley-Malfoy blood feud is an ancient one, that neither family should even bother maintaining at this point.~

~Okay, but that didn’t answer either of my questions,~ Harry said patiently. ~Or is this another thing that I’m far too young to know?~

~Ordinarily I’d say yes, but you seem to have gone and landed yourself in the thick of a major one. A blood feud between families is declared when a grievous insult is given by one family to another. It is essentially a fully legal armed duel between the families until such time as one family line, or more commonly both family lines, is extinct. In the instance of the Weasleys and the Malfoys, the insult occurred when the first daughter of the Weasley family, Elizabeth Weasley, was wed to the first son of the Malfoys, Jacques Malfoy, in the year of 1658.~

Harry couldn’t help it, he interrupted with an incredulous, ~This has been going on for over three hundred years?~

~And so you see my problem with them,~ Tom answered. ~But as I was saying, Jacques deflowered his virgin bride on the wedding night, as was proper. She, of course, became with child because the Weasleys have always been a rather fertile bunch, and when the child was born several weeks early it looked nothing like Jacques. There were accusations of infidelity, followed swiftly by an annulment of the marriage on the part of the Malfoy family, leaving dear Elizabeth unmarriageable. Whether there was actual infidelity involved or not I’ve never quite been able to determine, nor do I particularly care beyond idle curiosity. But the resulting scandal created a blood feud between the two families, and they’ve been fighting ever since. It’s gotten to the point where two once-vast wizarding families are down to their last lines. The two lines currently represented among the student body of Hogwarts are, unless I am very much mistaken, the last of both lines. And the worst part is that I doubt that either Ron or Draco has any idea what caused the original feud in question.~

~That’s... that’s absolutely ridiculous,~ Harry finally managed. ~How in the world does the law allow for things like that to continue?~

~There are still quite a few ancient, ridiculous laws on the books. That was one of the things that I was hoping to change once I managed to topple the Ministry,~ Tom answered.

~Right, because your way of doing things sounds so much less ridiculous,~ Harry muttered, and if there was a bit of sarcasm to his voice, well, nobody called him on it.

Well, except for, ~I am well aware that my way of doing things is far from perfect, but I haven’t been able to think of a better way. By all means, if you think that you can do better, I’m certainly willing to entertain ideas.~

~I’m eleven.~ Harry paused to let that statement sink in for a moment, then continued with, ~I don’t have any ideas regarding world domination just yet. Give me a few years before you want me to fix the rest of the world.~

~My apologies,~ Tom said with a soft chuckle. ~You are very intelligent, and that makes it very easy for me to forget how young you really are.~

~Except for when you’re telling me that I’m too young to know things,~ Harry grumbled.

“Harry, hey, Harry, aren’t you listening? Maybe he fell asleep with his eyes open. Can you even do that?” Ron was saying, and Harry forced himself to pay attention to the world outside of his own head.

“Sorry, no, staring off into space. What were you saying?” Harry asked, blinking and focusing on the redhead and the blond, both watching him a little warily.

“The train’s about to arrive. We need to get our robes on so that we’ll be ready for the Sorting Ceremony,” Draco answered coolly.

It only took them a few minutes to prepare for the train to arrive, and Harry was fortunate that one of them had thought of it when they did because just as he was buttoning the last button on his robes, the train pulled into the station. His excitement began to grow as they began to gather their things together and leave the compartment.

As they were exiting the train, Ron asked, “Say, Draco, do you think that we’re going to have to fight a troll? Fred and George said that we did.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous Weasley. And don’t call me Draco!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. Here he was, getting ready to be Sorted into his house, and he now had two friends to his name other than Tom. He couldn’t help his excitement, and was hard pressed not to bounce in place.

Although he did hope that he wasn’t going to have to fight a troll.


	7. Chapter Six

“Firs’ years this way!” Hagrid was calling, and Harry eagerly followed the sound of Hagrid’s voice. He couldn’t wait... he didn’t even know how they’d be making their way over to Hogwarts. Tom had kept that part of things very quiet, which meant that it was a surprise that Harry would enjoy. Tom always kept things that he thought Harry would enjoy a secret, and Harry adored that about Tom.

Ron and Draco were less excited, but Harry imagined that was probably because they were both purebloods who had grown up in the wizarding world. They probably had a better idea of what was coming. Well, aside from Ron’s question about facing a troll, which had obviously not amused Draco. And was hopefully not the case. Tom coming out for the Sorting ceremony would be a disaster, and Harry knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop him from manifesting if he were to actually be facing something so dangerous as a troll.

And then he spotted the edge of the lake, with its dock full of canoes, and a bright smile broke over his face. Boats!

“Have you ever ridden on a boat before?” Draco asked him as they stepped into the canoes which would hold four of them. One of the two hulking brutes that had stood guard outside of their door joined them, filling the boat just before a girl with bushy hair and slightly larger than normal front teeth could do so.

“Once,” Harry said. “Twice, technically.” He fought the urge to bounce in place. Tom would definitely not approve of such behavior. And Tom was, of course, the consummate Slytherin. He would do well to do what Tom wanted, at least until he’d established himself within the wizarding world. But they were in these adorable boats, and Tom hadn’t even warned him that he’d be getting to try out a boat! How could Harry be anything less than excited? “Neither time was exactly fun, but I bet this time will be better.”

“I’m sure that it will be,” Draco said, and then the boats were moving without any of them even having to row. But there was no motor, no anything to make them go. Except, of course, for magic itself. Which only made it better, because now the boats were moving and he didn’t have to do any work.

Harry settled back into the boat with a small, satisfied sigh. He was already feeling quite at home, perhaps for the first time ever. How could he not be, surrounded by dozens of children just like him? ~There’s nobody quite like you, Harry,~ Tom murmured, and a warm feeling of approval that Harry hadn’t felt in such a long time welled within Harry.

Harry closed his eyes and savored the feeling even as he answered, ~You’re just saying that Tom. I’m sure there are dozens of wizards out there that could have taken my place. It was just luck that you wound up with me rather than any of them.~

~In truth, from what little I can recall of the prophecy which ruined both of our lives, there was indeed another child available,~ Tom mused.

Harry was very surprised by the sudden hot flare of jealousy within him. ~But you didn’t pick that other child. You chose me. Are you...~ Harry hesitated, then continued bravely, ~Are you glad you chose me?~ He knew that Tom liked him, because Tom had to like him for all that he’d done for Harry over the years. But to find out that there was another who could have taken his place... what if Tom didn’t really like him all that much?

~Of course I am. If I had to be defeated by anybody, I’m glad it was you.~ Harry felt that approval curling around him again and he shivered a bit. It felt so good, Tom’s approval. He would do... well, okay, he wouldn’t do just anything for Tom’s approval, but he thought that maybe he’d do quite a bit.

But wasn’t that only natural? Tom had practically raised him, done more for him than his Aunt and Uncle ever had. It was only right that Harry should look at Tom as a father figure, and should want to please him. That Tom had once upon a time been a murdering sociopath who had tried to kill him probably made the whole thing a bit unhealthy, but Harry thought that they were rather a unique circumstance.

“Harry?” Draco was saying, and Harry forced himself to open his eyes. “Are you well?” the blond asked, one immaculately sculpted brow raising in question.

Harry snickered at the expression. “I’m fine,” he answered, “Just a bit tired. It’s been a long day already, and it’s only just begun!” There were other excuses he could have used, such as seasickness or even that he was savoring the boat ride, but neither one made nearly as much sense as being tired. And, that had the advantage of not even being a lie.

It was so hard to remember that there were actual people out there in the world that wanted to interact with him. For so long it had just been him and Tom that it was... well, it wasn’t impossible to remember that Draco and Ron were there and that of course they would want attention. Harry didn’t believe that anything was truly impossible, except for things like bringing back the dead, but they could be difficult. It wasn’t going to be an easy thing at all for Harry to get used to no longer being able to just lose himself in his own mind with Tom for a few hours.

But then, as he adjusted to Hogwarts and to being around his own kind and to having real friends rather than just Tom, Harry assumed that it would get easier. ~They aren’t quite your friends, you know,~ Tom pointed out, and there was a hint of something in his voice that made Harry immediately focus his entire attention on the spirit once more.

~Don’t be jealous, Tom,~ Harry begged. ~Of course they’re not actually my friends, not yet, but they will be. And I... I want to have real friends. Which isn’t to say that you aren’t great, because you really are, but... but I deserve to have some real friends as well as you, don’t I?~ Harry was trembling with the thought of displeasing Tom, of making Tom go away. He hadn’t worried about that in so very long, and he supposed maybe he’d taken the spirit for granted. After all, there was no saying that Tom couldn’t choose to just go back to sleep and leave Harry all alone in his head once more.

~I’m not going to leave you,~ Tom muttered. ~I’m just being a grouchy old man. Now pay attention, child. You’re about to see Hogwarts for the first time.~

Which wasn’t quite true, since Harry knew that he’d seen bits of Hogwarts from Tom’s head before. But this would be his first full view of the castle, and that was something to be savored. And he’d also missed the majority of the boat ride, but that was okay. There would be other boat rides, but it wasn’t often that Harry had the chance to reassure Tom. But with Tom now reassured, and the boat just about to come out from under the overpass, Harry pulled himself back out of his own mind. He smiled to alleviate Ron and Draco’s concerned looks and waited for only a moment before the view of the castle was taking his breath away.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry breathed. And it really, really was. It was perfect against the dark sky, all lit up like stars and... yeah. Perfect. Even the fact that it almost looked like it could fall off the cliff at any moment only made it that much more impressive, because it was clearly magic keeping it there. Tom always saved the best surprises for last, Harry thought, and sent Tom a burst of affection. Because he didn’t do that enough for the spirit.

“She is, isn’t she?” Ron asked. And then he spoiled the serenity of the moment with the question, “So if you don’t think we have to fight a troll, what do you think we have to do?”

Draco rolled his eyes. They were docking, now, and stepping carefully out of the boats. One girl slipped, and almost fell into the lake, but Hagrid caught her before she could get too close to the water. “Honestly, Ron, all we have to do is put on a hat, and it’ll tell us what house is best for us. It isn’t difficult at all.”

“Oh, is that all? That doesn’t sound difficult at all! I wonder why my brothers would have...” Ron trailed off, as though realizing something. Then he flushed and shook his head.

“What?” Harry asked, as they walked up the path to the school. They were met at the door by a severe looking older witch, her hair pulled back into a tight, salt and pepper bun. From there Hagrid left them, and Professor McGonagall took over.

“They lied to me,” Ron said. “I don’t know why I expected different of Fred and George. More fool me, I guess,” he said glumly. “They’re always playing tricks on people, and I guess I was just another easy mark.”

“I’m sure they don’t mean to be cruel,” Harry offered, and then fell silent as Ron shot him a dark look. Harry sighed, then muttered, “Well, I mean, I would hope that they didn’t. But I don’t know them, so maybe they’re just rotten.”

“To the core,” Ron muttered.

~Harry, I need your attention again,~ Tom said suddenly, just a touch of discomfort in his voice.

~What is it?~ Harry asked, immediately focusing on the once Dark Lord. ~Is there a problem?~

~There is, and I’m an idiot. The Sorting Hat, the thing that’s going to sort you to your House? It reads minds. I’m going to have to go completely dark in here, because I don’t trust the hat not to confess everything of note to Dumbledore. Your task is going to be to keep yourself from thinking about me as much as possible.~

~But Tom, that’s like saying not to think of the pink elephant! All I’ll be doing now is thinking about how I’m not supposed to be thinking about you!~ Harry protested. Because Tom was almost always in his thoughts, Harry wasn’t even sure how to block the Hat off from Tom, if one even could.

Tom let out an irritated hiss. ~You’ve a point,~ he muttered. ~Then fine. We’ll try something else. I’m going to attempt to present you as a natural Occlumens. That’s going to make you look a bit more suspicious to the Headmaster, but no more than the Hat reporting my presence. What that means is that the next time you present yourself to the Headmaster, you’ll have to catch his gaze at least once so that we can cement in his mind that you are, in fact, a natural and that the Sorting wasn’t a fluke.~

~So what you’re telling me is that I don’t really have anything to worry about because you’re going to take care of this?~ Harry asked after puzzling his way through Tom’s rather rambling sentence. He must be nervous, because it wasn’t like the Dark Lord to ramble otherwise.

~In a word, yes,~ Tom said flatly. ~Now let me focus. And pay attention, you’re about to be moving into the Great Hall.~

There were two ghosts drifting from the room, but Harry’s attention was captivated by the doors opening, and Professor McGonagall leading them into the Great Hall for the first time. Again, it wasn’t really anything that Harry hadn’t seen before, but there was something just so exciting about being here in person for the first time. About standing in the same spot that Tom had stood, while he waited to find out what house he’d go to. Well, close to the same spot, anyway.

The Hall was every bit as huge as Tom’s memories had made it out to be, and Harry was captivated by it. The enchanted ceiling was absolutely fascinating, and as the Sorting Hat began some strange song, Harry asked Tom, ~Do you know how to enchant ceilings like the Great Hall?~

~Didn’t I just say I need to focus?~ Tom snapped. At the flare of hurt his words caused, Tom muttered, ~Yes, actually, I do. It’s terribly advanced and not something I can teach until you have a background knowledge of Runes. Maybe when you’re older we can get around to it.~

Harry frowned. ~Why is it always when I’m older?~ he complained, not expecting an answer. Tom never answered when he was whining, and Harry knew enough about himself to know that question was the very definition of a whine. But then the Sorting Hat was finishing its song, and the Sorting was beginning, and Harry’s attention was caught by the ceremony. Tom had never shown him a Sorting before. Probably because Tom thought it was boring, and Tom didn’t like to show Harry boring things.

Abbot, Hannah, was called up to the little stool where Professor McGonagall handed her the hat to be placed upon her head. She sat there silently for almost a moment before the Hat shouted out, “HUFFLEPUFF!” and she scampered off to the table under the yellow and black banner.

Harry watched the rest of the Sorting with no small amount of fascination. That one little hat could know so much about the minds of the wizards it was working with, well, it was both awe inspiring and terrifying all at once. Harry didn’t like the thought of a non-living object being able to read his mind quite like that. Really, he wasn’t fond of any being having that sort of power, but he supposed he didn’t have a choice so long as he wanted to attend Hogwarts.

As he watched, Crabbe, Vincent went to Gryffindor, followed shortly by the other brute from the train, Goyle, Gregory. That was... strange. ~They should have gone to Slytherin,~ Tom protested. ~Both of their fathers were in Slytherin, and I know that they would have raised their sons to be very similar. I think the Headmaster’s hand is involved here, and that concerns me. He must already suspect what house you’re going to.~

In no time at all it was Draco’s turn, and the hat had barely touched his head when it was bellowing out “SLYTHERIN!”

Draco turned and nodded at both Harry and Ron before walking off to sit with his new house. And then, after a few more students went, Harry’s name was called. He heard the whispers starting up as he walked up to the stool, but ignored them. Let them talk. For the most part, he didn’t care what any of them said.

_Hmm? What’s this I see? Mr. Potter, I can’t seem to get too far into your mind_ , a soft voice whispered in Harry’s ear. It wasn’t quite like anything Harry had ever heard before.

_Sorry?_ he thought at the voice in question. _I’m not really sure what’s going on here, or why you can’t see into my mind, he thought apologetically. Is there a question or something I need to answer? I’m not really sure how this Sorting thing works._

_Well, it’s been a very long time since a natural Occlumens sat me upon their head. You’ll need to lower your shields just a... ahh, yes, there we go. Indeed, I can see that the Headmaster was quite right. There’s really only one house meant for somebody like you, Mr. Potter. Watch your back; your secret is safe with me. For you, Mr. Potter, it had better be_ “SLYTHERIN!”

Harry was forcing himself to fake a smile as he hopped down from the school and handed the hat back to Professor McGonagall. She looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon sideways. ~Did the Hat notice you?~ he asked Tom urgently.

~I don’t know,~ Tom responded. ~If he did, there’s not much we can do about it now. I suppose we can only hope, and I’ll attempt to make some contingency plans. For now, pay attention to the Sorting.~

~Where do you think Ron will wind up?~ Harry asked cautiously.

~He’ll go to Gryffindor,~ Tom whispered confidently as Harry took a seat next to Draco. The whole hall was in an uproar over his Sorting, but Harry didn’t actually care. He’d gone exactly where Tom wanted him to, and Draco was so obviously pleased that they’d been Sorted together that he didn’t care what the rest of the world thought. After all, where had the rest of wizarding Britain been when he’d needed them when he was five? Nowhere, that’s where.

~You don’t know that,~ Harry said in answer to Tom’s confidence. He watched as the Professor clearly in charge of the Sorting managed to restore order to the rowdy group of students. It was a difficult task, but eventually the Sorting began once more.

Ron’s name was called after a few other students, and Harry offered his other friend... acquaintance, if he was going to go by Tom’s rules, a smile of encouragement. No matter what house Ron ended up in, Harry was determined to still be his friend. He rather liked the other boy, even if he was sort of obsessed with showing his brothers up in one way or another. For that matter, wouldn’t that ambition qualify him for Slytherin?

“The Hat’s been on his head for an awfully long time,” Draco whispered about two minutes later. The rest of the hall had fallen silent, with the occasional break caused by a shifting student or a cough or a little giggle as the silence drew on. Even Professor McGonagall looked impatient when the Hat finally yelled out, “SLYTHERIN!” at the top of it’s lungs.

There was a beat of total silence as Ron slid the hat from his head and trotted over to join both Harry and Draco, and then one of two identical redheads over at the Gryffindor table shouted out, “Bloody Hell, Ronnikins, mum’s gonna go spare!”

The third redhead was going red in the face and cuffed the one that had spoken on the back of the head. “You idiot!” the prefect shouted. “If you get a detention before the first day of classes, Mum’ll kill you! Mum and Dad won’t care what house Ron got Sorted into!”

“Mr. Weasley! If classes were in session I’d deduct points for that remark! As it stands, you’ll serve detention with me first thing tomorrow evening!” Professor McGonagall shouted, and returned to the Sorting as though nothing out of the ordinary had even happened.

But Ron whispered to them, once the food had appeared and they were all enjoying gorging themselves, “I think I’m the first Weasley ever to Sort to Slytherin. Mum’s gonna be pissed, Fred was right about that.”

“Even so, I’m glad you’ve been Sorted with us,” Harry offered.

Draco sniffed. “Who cares if the Blood Traitors are angry with you? Now that you’ve joined Slytherin, we’ll be able to educate you on the proper behavior of a Pureblood such as yourself.”

It was a testament to Ron’s maturity that he didn’t go off on Draco for insulting his family in such a way. Or rather, the credit went to Harry, who distracted Ron by sneaking a second piece of tart onto Ron’s plate just before he exploded on Draco.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus Snape had been blissfully ignorant of what the coming year would be throwing in his direction. Oh, yes, he had absolutely been aware that it would be yet another year filled with incompetent fools that could no more brew a proper potion than they could take flight without the aid of a broom, but he’d forgotten the joys that would be heaped upon his person this particular school year.

He’d forgotten that this would be the year when the offspring of Lily and that... that man came to Hogwarts.

He’d managed to keep forgetting that one small fact until such time as the boy himself walked into the Great Hall, a somewhat glazed look in those heartbreakingly familiar green eyes of his. The rest of him, though, that was all James, and Severus fought down a vicious sneer at the sight of the wire-rimmed glasses and the messy black hair, even the vacant look in his eyes. Of course the child would be as incompetent, as foolish, as the father had been. The insult was a reflexive, hateful response, and one that Lily once upon a time would have said was beneath him.

But Lily wasn’t here. She was dead, presumably defending the rotten little snot standing waiting to be Sorted, and Severus could not possibly forgive the child in question for living when Lily had not. Lily had once been a very dear friend, and, though she had chosen her fate by siding against the Dark Lord, Severus still mourned her loss.

She never would have understood the choices he’d made, but still...

He closed his eyes, forced himself to breathe deeply, tried to remember that the child, Harry Potter, was most certainly not his father. Of course, he could be worse. He’d been raised a celebrity, unlike James. Harry Potter would most likely have all of his father’s arrogance and none of his mother’s gentleness. He would be a nightmare student, and Severus would undoubtedly be the only Professor to understand what it meant. The others would all no doubt be blinded by the boy’s shining celebrity status.

It was a disgrace in the making, and Severus sneered as the Sorting began. As though there was any doubt where Potter would go. As a matter of fact...

Severus eyed the nervous group of first years with a practiced gaze. There were several students that he could tell easily what house they would go to, starting with Potter himself. Another Weasley, of course, also destined for Gryffindor. Didn’t that family ever stop breeding? And oh, yes, there was the Malfoy heir, no doubt going to Slytherin. Lucius wouldn’t have it any other way. There was Parkinson, also doubtlessly headed towards his own house, and a Bones who had the look of a Hufflepuff about her.

The Sorting held no surprises at all anymore, a fact which could almost disappoint Severus. He recalled them being at least somewhat exciting when he was in school.

His first two surprises came with the sorting of Crabbe, Vincent and Goyle, Gregory. He’d known both of the boys’ fathers, and would have assumed them to be coming to his house. But no, both wound up in Gryffindor instead, a fact which made him frown in confusion. Gryffindor? He hadn’t thought them to be particularly qualified for the house, but the Sorting Hat knew best he supposed. The Sorting continued with no other surprises for several names.

Malfoy’s name was called, then, and of course he went right to Slytherin the moment the hat touched his head. Severus was unsurprised by the designation, and offered the child a nod. The nod was not seen, however, as it appeared that the boy was looking elsewhere in the line, matching gazes with... Potter? Now what could possibly be going on there?

Somewhat intrigued, Severus leaned forward a bit and watched the next bit of the ceremony. When Potter’s name was called, the child strode forward confidently and settled the hat onto his head with ease. The hat sat there for only a few heartbeats before shouting out, “SLYTHERIN!” and making the entire hall go insane.

Potter didn’t seem to notice a bit of it, moving swiftly over to join Malfoy at the end of the table despite several upper years making discrete gestures indicating that the child should come and join them. His house was behaving admirably considering the celebrity they’d just gained. Rather than joining in the startled shouts of surprise that the rest of the hall was indulging in, his upper years were merely looking smug, as though they’d known this was coming the entire time.

Severus sat back in his chair, a small huff of surprise leaving his lips. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected that at all, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of such a thing. Neither Lily nor James would have ever been Sorted into Slytherin, so there was clearly something very wrong going on here. He chanced a look over at the Headmaster, only to spot a swiftly hidden frown of consternation on the generally genial man’s face.

How curious. It seemed as though there was something of a mystery to be worked through this year. And Severus absolutely adored mysteries.

But Severus had little time to consider the mystery Potter presented, because there was yet another surprise waiting for him. The Weasley boy, a sure fit for Gryffindor, went to his own house instead. That was... that was rather surprising in and of itself. Even more surprising was that the child looked pleased by his Sorting, and even more surprising than that was that the boy ran to sit with Malfoy and Potter, who both looked positively gleeful to have him there.

This... this was the start of something terrible, Severus was certain. A Weasley and Potter not only in his house but consorting with a Malfoy? Severus was almost positive that was a sign of the end of days.

ooOOooOOoo

Full in a way that he’d rarely been despite Tom’s best efforts, Harry followed the rest of the students down into the dungeons for the night. It was an exciting thing, to be here at Hogwarts for his very first night, although Tom was being awfully quiet in his head right now. Which was okay, because that meant that he’d actually be able to pay attention to the prefects and the directions they were going in and everything else he would need to know about Hogwarts.

Tom stirred himself enough to point out, ~It isn’t as though I’d let you get lost,~ in a rather irritated tone.

Harry responded with, ~But I don’t want to just rely on you for directions all the time. I should learn my own way around.~

Tom had no response to that, and Harry was glad to not be distracted as he took in his first in person sight of the Slytherin Common Room. It was much as Tom remembered it, a large, open space with quite a few low backed black and green couches strewn around the room. There was a fireplace in the middle of the farthest wall, and bits of moss growing on the stone walls. There were green lights that lit the room nicely, and if Harry looked up at one of the far skylights, he could see water. Tom had mentioned that the dungeons expanded under the lake, but he’d failed to mention that you could actually see the lake from within the Common Room. Harry thought it might be quite nice to be able to sit under there and watch the lake from below while doing homework.

He tore his attention away from the dark bottom of the lake on the far side of the room when he noticed that the prefects were gesturing everybody to take their seats on the low couches scattered throughout. Once they had, an upper year wearing the badge of a prefect stepped forward. He had shoulder length brown hair and cold blue eyes that surveyed the first years rather impartially. Harry didn’t care for the look of him at all.

“My name, for those of you who don’t know, is Alexander Bennet. I am your sixth year prefect, and as such it is my duty to look after all first years. Please, do try not to make my job any harder than it might already be. I realize that it may be difficult for you, but I do ask that you all make your best attempts at it. I already have enough studying to do without mopping up your messes.”

He fell silent, studying each of the first years with a scrutiny that made Harry fidget uncomfortably. “No fidgeting!” he barked out, and Harry stilled immediately. “A Slytherin does not fidget,” the prefect said, not knowing that Tom was echoing him within Harry’s head. “They do not fidget. They do not twiddle their thumbs. They do not cavort in the hallways like hooligans. They do not disgrace their house in any way that one can imagine, be it large or small. We are your family for the next seven years of your lives. You wouldn’t want to disgrace your families, would you?”

~I’m the first prefect to have given that speech,~ Tom said smugly within Harry’s mind, and Harry had to bite down a smile.

He waited until there was a round of softly whispered ‘no’s’ from every first year in the room before continuing with, “Excellent. Now, our password currently is snake in the grass. Do not forget it. If you forget it, you will not be helped in by any upper years until five minutes after curfew, and if you are caught out after curfew, you will serve detention. If you are caught by a professor other than Professor Snape, you can be assured you will face consequences from the rest of the house as well. Our password will change every fortnight, and you will be able to see each new one posted on the bulletin board just in between the boy’s and girl’s dormitories.”

He stopped once more, looking at all of them with hard eyes, and asked rather severely, “Now, were there any questions?” When there were none, he dismissed them with a simple, “The morning will come soon, so off to bed with the lot of you,” and a wave of his hand.

Harry, Ron, and Draco made their way up to their dormitory, labelled by a shiny silver plaque as the first year boys dormitory, along with a boy named Blaise Zabini, and another boy by the name of Theodore Nott. “I just realized that Crabbe and Goyle weren’t Sorted along with us,” Draco said with a frown. “Which house did they wind up in?” There was a peculiar relief in his tone, and Harry added that to the mental file of odd things about Draco that would need investigating. He didn’t have any such file on Ron just yet.

~That’s because with a Weasley you get exactly what you see,~ Tom snarked.

“Gryffindor,” Zabini said as he flung himself onto his bed, neatly labelled and with his things already on it. “No offense to them, but I’m glad we’ve got Weasley and Potter instead. Those two looked thicker than oaks.” The tone to his voice gave away the insult of the statement, and Harry frowned at him.

Tom prodded the back of his mind as he opened his mouth to speak, and Harry let out a small sigh and fell silent. It wouldn’t do to make enemies his very first night here. He chose instead to focus on his very own bed, and the fact that he was exhausted, and Minerva purring and waiting eagerly for him. He changed into his pajamas, settled onto his bed, and hauled his kitten into his lap, a smile coming to his face.

“You didn’t bring an owl, Harry?” Draco asked as he too chose to settle into his bed. “They’re dead useful.”

“I didn’t really have anyone to write to,” Harry responded, even as exhaustion began to settle over him like a thick blanket. He let out a yawn, and didn’t quite catch anybody’s response, if there even was one. Bennet was right, the morning would come very soon, and Harry was so excited to be attending his first set of classes. But the excitement was no match for exhaustion, and Harry found himself dropping off to sleep much earlier than he’d intended.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus was settled into his room and studying a potion’s manuscript when there was a soft, discreet tapping at the door. He wasn’t an idiot; he could guess who was in the hallway and he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the conversation. But he didn’t have much of a choice, so he stood and opened the door, and yes, it was the Headmaster on the other side.

“Albus,” he said with a nod, and stepped back. He gave a welcoming gesture, and before too long the Headmaster was settled into his sitting room, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. Once Severus had settled himself as well he said flatly, “This is of course about the Potter boy.” There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that was the case.

His suspicions were confirmed when the Headmaster’s head dipped in a shallow nod. “Indeed, Severus.” The man took a deep breath, followed by a sip of his tea, and then he said finally, “Not many know this, in fact, the number is currently limited to myself, Hagrid, and the boy and his family. But I think that you deserve to know, because I need you to watch the boy very carefully for me.”

“Whatever you think that I need to know, Albus,” Severus answered obediently. He had the feeling that he wasn’t going to like whatever it was that Albus had to say, and imagined that it probably had something to do with why the boy had been Sorted to his house.

“We cannot be sure if it was accidental, though I cannot imagine it being anything but. He’s awfully young to have managed to do it on purpose, not to mention that he’d never had any formal training at the time of the incident. On the other hand, certain comments from his aunt have led me to believe that the entire thing was very much on purpose, a fact which concerns me greatly.” Albus paused for a breath.

“Albus, what concerns you greatly?” Severus asked, growing impatient. He only had so many hours to finish up reading his manuscript before he had to be in bed for classes tomorrow, after all, and the Headmaster would chatter for hours when given the chance.

“Harry Potter killed his Uncle just before Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley this summer,” the Headmaster said gravely. “That, combined with the sorting into Slytherin has me a bit concerned.”

Severus frowned at the information. “How did he...” Severus trailed off and gestured delicately with one hand.

“The way that Petunia Dursley described it made it seem to be a wandless, wordless killing curse.” Albus was frowning, and settled his teacup down on the table, only half finished. “Severus, I shouldn’t have to tell you that I’m very concerned.”

“No, I understand. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him for you, Albus, and bring anything suspicious to your attention at once.” Severus studied his own teacup pensively until Albus cleared his throat. When he looked up, the Headmaster was standing.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then,” Albus murmured, and showed himself out of the room.

Severus left his potion’s manuscript on the table, forgotten, as he allowed himself to be lost in thought. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, son of Lily and James Potter, celebrity, Slytherin, and apparently a killer as well.

Very interesting.


	8. Chapter Seven

At breakfast the next morning, a large black owl arrived carrying a letter for Draco. The slender blond went pasty white and snatched the letter, stuffing it into the inside of his robe without even reading it. Draco’s gaze immediately went to somebody further down the Slytherin table, then jerked back to his plate before Harry could follow it.

“Who’s that from, Draco?” Ron asked, even as he watched the ceiling rather warily.

“My parents,” Draco answered shortly. “And don’t call me that, Weasley.” He went back to eating as though he hadn’t just received a mysterious letter.

Harry couldn’t help but note that while the blond was pretending that everything was normal, the hand holding his fork was shaking ever so slightly. ~What do you think it means, Tom?~ Harry asked.

~Lucius Malfoy always was a cruel man,~ Tom responded, rather cryptically in Harry’s opinion. When pressed for further information, the spirit would say no more.

He switched his attention to something else. “Ron, what’re you staring at the ceiling for? I mean, it’s pretty and all, but shouldn’t you be eating breakfast?”

“I’m waiting for my mum to send me a Howler,” Ron said. When the morning owls stopped arriving and he still hadn’t received anything, he breathed a soft sigh of relief and settled into breakfast more readily. “Looks like she either hasn’t gotten the news yet or I’m going to be pulled out of the Great Hall by my ear later today.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the image of gangly, awkward looking Ron being tugged out of the Great Hall by the ear. “What a sight you’d make,” Harry teased. “I promise that I would try my hardest not to choke laughing at you.”

“Your mother should be proud that you’ve made it into Hogwarts’ most noble house,” one of the girls from their year, Pansy Parkinson Harry thought, said softly. She had short black hair and a rather hard face.

~She’ll grow into it,~ Tom said quietly. ~You should see her parents.~

Harry shrugged mentally. He wasn’t really all that interested in what the girl would look like in a few years. There was so much more to worry about, now that he’d started at Hogwarts. Like what was going on with Professor Quirrell, for one thing.

Tom chuckled. ~You’ll grow into it too, Harry.~

Harry couldn’t really imagine growing into actually caring about girls, but if Tom said so he supposed it would happen. “I still don’t understand why the house that you’re sorted into is such a big deal,” Harry complained aloud, lest Draco and Ron grow concerned about his silence once more. He would have to watch that; it wouldn’t take many for them to grow suspicious.

Draco sighed. “You’re thinking, of course, that your house is only your house for the seven years of your tenure at Hogwarts. This simply isn’t the case. Friendships you build within your house can carry on for an entire lifetime. These friends will have friends and family of their own, and so on. The friends of your friends are your friends, if you will. Also, you’ll find that there are people out there in the world that care more about the house you’ve been sorted into than your actual qualifications to perform a task. Due to our cunning and ambition, the vast majority of politicians and noblemen are, in fact, Slytherin. Of the rest that are not, there are many Ravenclaw families, who are far too intelligent to exclude a Slytherin simply for being a Slytherin, Hufflepuff families, who are too kind to exclude somebody based on their Hogwarts house, and only a handful of Gryffindor families remaining. Most were wiped out in the last war. Weasley, by joining Slytherin rather than Gryffindor, has just had many doors opened to him that might not have otherwise.”

“But shouldn’t his parents be happy about that?” Harry asked, as though he didn’t already know all about the massive rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, or the blood feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. Because how would he know?

“I’ve also had a lot of doors closed to me,” Ron said. His shoulders hunched in and he continued with, “There aren’t many Gryffindors that will associate with Slytherins, even once we’re out of school. Even if Gryffindor nobles are vastly in the minority.”

“There aren’t many Gryffindors worth socializing with,” an upper year said, and the atmosphere of the table lightened with a burst of polite laughter.

“Alright, my little first year pets, I’ve got your schedules right here,” Bennet said quite suddenly, breaking up the cheerful mood. “Don’t all mob me at once, then,” he added when none of the students moved.

Harry scraped up the last bit of eggs on his plate then hopped down from his seat to grab his schedule. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“See, look, one of you isn’t entirely hopeless,” Bennet said after scrutinizing Harry rather closely. Harry made sure not to fidget this time around, and Bennet patted him on the head before he went back to his seat and began to pack away his things. Why had he gotten out his Potions textbook, anyway? There were only a few minutes left in breakfast, and then they would have their first set of classes to go to!

The other first years followed his example and gathered their schedules and their things, and then they were all off together for their first set of classes.

ooOOooOOoo

Classes were... well, they were classes. On the one hand, the subjects were infinitely more fascinating than Muggle classes had ever been, even if Tom had insisted that he excel at all subjects even before Hogwarts. He found that he generally liked learning magic, and that while Tom had taught him a great deal of the magical theory behind spellcasting, it was a different thing entirely to manage the practical.

Herbology and History were both nice, considering that Tom’s instruction in both of those subjects had been rather complete. More complete than Binns’ instruction, at any rate. Since neither course had required a wand, Tom had spent the vast majority of his time on those courses. On nights when he couldn’t sleep, especially early on when he was still recovering from his rotten first years with the Dursleys, Tom had always managed to lure him to sleep with Astronomy, so that was another easy course for Harry.

It was very nice to be the expert in something for once, and Harry enjoyed very much helping both Ron and Draco with their homework for those three classes. It was nice to have friends to help out, and it was a luxury that Harry was still savoring.

Transfigurations and Charms were both more difficult than the other three courses, but Harry found that he was actually rather good at both of the above. Again, Tom had taught him quite a lot of the theory behind using charms and transfiguring things, so now it was merely a matter of matching the wand movements and the amounts of power to the proper goals. The hardest part of those two classes was pretending like he didn’t know as much about them as he did, because he didn’t want Draco to get suspicious.

And then, of course, there was Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and flying practice. All fascinating courses in their own right, but they were causing no end of trouble for Harry. Not because they were difficult, oh no, that would be an easy fix. No, it was rather the opposite problem that Harry was having, and he wasn’t sure at all what to do about it.

ooOOooOOoo

The first class to give Harry trouble was Potions. It started when Professor Snape blew into the room like some great bloody bat, a comparison which had Tom snickering in the back of his head. ~Oh, Harry,~ Tom murmured chortling, and there was something strange in Tom’s tone, a sort of wistfulness, but Harry was busy taking notes on the Professor’s opening speech. It sounded a lot like something Tom would say when he was at his most melodramatic, to be honest.

The moment he made that connection, Tom stopped laughing in his head and fell into a rather sullen silence.

“Mr. Potter! Can you tell me what I might get if I were to add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” (1) Snape barked out suddenly.

~Draught of Living Death,~ Tom said immediately.

So used to taking answers from Tom when called upon in class, a skill which came from years of paying more attention to Tom than whoever the teacher was in primary school, Harry was repeating the answer before he could filter himself “You would have the Draught of Living Death, sir,” he said with a respectful nod of his head.

~Oops,~ Tom muttered as Professor Snape stared at him in silence for a moment.

~What do you mean, ‘oops’? Did you just feed me the wrong answer?~ Harry demanded.

~No, it just isn’t in your first year textbook,~ Tom said rather sheepishly.

Harry fought down a groan, and didn’t have a chance to react as the Potion’s Master asked sharply, “And where might I find a bezoar?” (1)

This one Harry knew, and so he responded with, “In the stomach of a goat, sir, and you would use it to treat poisons,” still in that same respectful tone. The bezoar was something that Tom had taught him when he was only seven years old, and he did in fact carry one with him at all times. Tom had insisted. Harry still cringed when he remembered watching as Tom completed the ghastly task of procuring one.

By Tom’s irritated sigh in the back of his mind, however, Harry realized that this particular answer also wasn’t in his first year textbook. But there was nothing to do but move on from there, and fortunately Snape didn’t ask him any other questions.

Instead he moved on with a simple, “Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter.”

Unfortunately, during the practical part of the lesson, the Longbottom boy managed to knock his entire fistful of porcupine quills into his potion well before the time they were meant to be added.

~Unless he stabilizes that with beetle’s eyes, that’s going to burn terribly. But I don’t imagine he’ll know that,~ Tom observed rather dispassionately.

Before Harry could even think about what he was doing or how he would explain it, he was moving to Longbottom’s side and dropping the required beetle’s eyes into the potion. He stirred it once, twice, and the angrily hissing potion returned to its normal sedate state.

~Harry!~ Tom protested. ~How do you plan on explaining that?~

“Mr. Longbottom, that will be five points from Gryffindor for nearly melting a cauldron in my classroom. Another ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter, for saving me the trouble of having to clean up his mess.” Which would have been great, except that neither Professor Snape nor Draco took their eyes from him the rest of the class. Ron remained cheerfully oblivious, not noticing that anything was wrong at all

After class, as they walked through the halls, Draco asked, “How did you do that, Harry? Stabilize the potion, know the answers to those questions?”

Harry hesitated, then said, “Well, when I was picking up my school books I grabbed a beginner’s book on healing magics as well. The information was in there,” he lied.

The quick answer didn’t stop Draco from watching him rather suspiciously the rest of the day, and Harry was very careful to be seen paging through his healing magic guide before they all turned in for bed that night. There was nothing in there at all about bezoars, the Draught of Living Death, or stabilizing potions, but Harry rather doubted that Draco knew that.

ooOOooOOoo

Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn’t so much a challenge magic-wise as Harry had feared it to be. As a matter of fact, he was rather excited to find that he seemed to have an aptitude for the class that was entirely unrelated to the spirit within his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t value Tom and his knowledge, because of course he did, but it was nice to find something he was good at apart from Tom.

And, of course, there was the mystery of what exactly Quirrell was, and why it was that Harry felt something so very familiar from the man whenever they were within a few feet from one another. Tom was appalled at the thought of the stuttering man being a horcrux, but Harry couldn’t think of another explanation. Perhaps there would be some clue later that would give the mystery away, but for now Harry was quite fascinated by it and spent quite a lot of time observing the man both in class and out. He only stopped when Ron of all people noticed his obsession and asked him what was so fascinating about ‘bloody Quirrell,’ as Ron phrased it.

His obsession did bear some fruit, however. He managed to track Professor Quirrell to the third floor corridor, the one that the Headmaster had announced was off limits during the welcome feast. This intrigued Harry quite a lot, but as he didn’t want to get caught spying by his friends any more than he wanted to get caught by Professor Quirrell himself, Harry was forced to try and give it up, a fact which irritated Tom as well.

And then there was the other source of his trouble: Flying. The class was so much fun, and Harry found that he just loved being up in the air. He was good at it, too, much the same way that he was good at Defense. Both were his own skill, according to Tom, and that made Harry all the more eager to exercise both of them. Flying was also, unfortunately, the cause of the first real fight he’d had with Tom since arriving at Hogwarts.

ooOOooOOoo

It was late at night after their first flying lesson, and the other four boys in the dorm were fast asleep. Harry, on the other hand, was lying up reading through a copy of Hogwarts: A History on Tom’s earlier recommendation. But rather than chiming in with observations about the book as Tom was known to do, the spirit was being conspicuously silent.

~Tom?~ Harry called, and received no answer at all from the Dark Lord. ~Tom?~ he tried again, slightly louder, and still received no response.

Harry marked his page and settled the book down on the bed, then crawled under the covers and closed his eyes as though going to sleep. What he did instead was take a step back into his mind, the way that he hadn’t since coming to Hogwarts. He found himself inside his own mental landscape once more. Once again he followed the light until he reached Tom’s study, and when he opened the door the spirit was sitting at his desk, stubbornly studying something that Harry couldn’t quite make out.

“Tom?” Harry asked, and took a step into the room.

“What?” the Dark Lord bit out, looking up to glare at Harry.

Harry flinched from the irritation in the Dark Lord’s gaze and asked softly, “Is something the matter?”

“Wherever would you get the idea that something is the matter?” Tom looked back down at his desk as he spoke, his voice more frosty than Harry had heard it in quite a while “Everything is quite fine. You have classes in the morning, you should get some rest.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, taking another few steps forward until he could reach out and touch Tom’s hand.

The hand in question clenched into a fist and Tom remained stubbornly silent. Harry waited for several moments, and then Tom finally blurted out, “What exactly makes you think that you’ll have time to play Quidditch? There are far more important things for you to worry about now that you’re here in the wizarding world!”

Harry frowned. That was what this was about? It had only been idle conversation between himself, Ron, and Draco, although Harry did admit that the idea of playing Quidditch for the house really kind of thrilled him. “What makes you think that I won’t? I can’t do all that much while I’m still in school,” Harry said mildly.

“You don’t understand, Harry! You should be... we should be working on a way to bring me back into the world! If not using, well, myself, then with another of my horcruxes! Not... not playing around with our Quidditch buddies or any other sort of nonsense! You are here at Hogwarts to learn, that I may eventually make my triumphant return to our world!” Tom stood as he spoke, towering over Harry, his red eyes alight with passion.

Harry, however, was unimpressed. “I’m here to go to school,” he said flatly. When he was certain that he had Tom’s full attention, he continued with, “I’m here to make friends, maybe allies, and to be a child. Because I am, in fact, still a child. In my second year, which is when I’d like to try out for the team, I’ll only be twelve. I’m not going on some mad quest to bring your body back when I’m only twelve years old. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Harry stormed from Tom’s mental room, then, and forced himself to fall into a real sleep before Tom could follow him out and continue the argument.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry and Tom didn’t speak for a week almost. Harry was barely able to tolerate the silence, though he managed to not let anybody around him know just how distressed he was. He wouldn’t have been able to explain it anyway. Just as Harry was about to apologize, to relent, to tell Tom that he wouldn’t try out for the Quidditch team in his second year, the Dark Lord apologized to him.

~I’m sorry, Harry,~ Tom whispered, and Harry felt his whole body sag with relief. ~Of course you’re only a child, and of course you deserve to do childish and fun things. I have no right to ask you to give up your childhood for me.~

~It isn’t that I don’t want you to have your body back,~ Harry said apologetically.

~I know that, of course I do.~ Tom enveloped Harry in a feeling of warm approval and affection, and Harry spent the rest of the next week with a permanent smile on his face.

ooOOooOOoo

Time passed rapidly after his introduction to the classes at Hogwarts. Before Harry knew just how much time had passed, Halloween had arrived. It was particularly vexing because he still hadn’t figured out what exactly it was that made something inside of him pull toward Quirrell. The only explanation, the most logical explanation, was the explanation that Tom had vetoed from minute one. That frustrated Harry to no end, because although Tom wouldn’t admit that there was a possibility that Quirrell was a horcrux, he also wouldn’t provide any other explanation.

So Harry continued to observe the DADA Professor, carefully because he didn’t want to be caught by his friends again, fully convinced that if he just watched for long enough he might be able to figure out the mystery. He did come to the conclusion that whatever the Headmaster had placed in the third floor was clearly whatever he’d had Hagrid pick up from Gringotts, and he’d already realized that it seemed to be of a great deal of interest to Quirrell. It was more than likely that the professor was trying to obtain whatever the object was, and Harry figured that if he could figure out the object in question, he’d be able to figure out maybe what Quirrell was hiding. The only question was, what magical artifact was small enough to fit in a tiny brown paper bag and be transported by Hagrid?

“Harry, it’s sort of creepy how you’re always staring at Professor Quirrell,” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of his sandwich at lunchtime.

Harry came back to himself with a start, realized that yes, he had been staring at the professor once more rather than eating, and redirected his gaze to stare moodily at his plate. “I know, I’m sorry,” he apologized.

Draco joined them, then, exhausted and out of breath. “You really should stop staring at Professor Quirrell, Harry,” he said quietly as he settled down. “I could see it all the way across the hall. He’s not even that good a teacher to be impressed by.”

Harry flushed. “No, I’m not... you know what? Never mind, guys. I’ll try to stop. But Draco, where’d you go? You were right behind us when we left Potions.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I had to respond to my father’s letter,” Draco answered. But he wasn’t touching any of the food on his plate, not even to bite into his favorite kind of crisps. His hands were trembling again, too, and Harry’s frown grew more pronounced.

He opened his mouth to ask Draco if he was alright when Tom hissed at him. ~What?~ Harry asked, defensive.

~Leave it alone,~ Tom suggested. ~There’s nothing you can do anyway, not when you’re so young.~

~You know what’s going on!~ Harry gasped out.

~Of course I do. But I’m certainly not going to tell you. Not when you’re tempted to do something about it and you shouldn’t even be worrying about this right now. You are, after all, only an eleven year old child.~ Tom’s voice was just a bit smug.

The tips of Harry’s ears turned slightly pink in his sudden burst of anger. ~Draco’s my friend, Tom. If something here at the castle’s hurting him, don’t you think he deserves help?~

~I don’t deny that, Harry, I just doubt there’s anything you can actually do for him. Not now, anyway, not when he won’t speak up for himself.~ Tom’s voice was gentle, and kind, and Harry hated the sound of it right then.

He jerked away from his half-eaten food and stormed off to class quite suddenly, ignoring Ron’s startled shouts and Draco’s more hesitant inquiries as the two of them caught up to him. “I’m fine, guys,” he brushed them off. “I just didn’t want to be late.”

“We’re nowhere near late, Potter,” Draco muttered with that exasperated tone that he used when Harry was being particularly odd. Like right now.

“Sorry,” he said. “Must’ve misread the time,” he added with a shrug.

“I didn’t see you cast a _tempus_ ,” Ron said, surprised.

“How would you have, considering that you never take your eyes off your plate when you’re eating?” Draco asked silkily, even as he cast Harry an odd look of his own.

He heard Ron begin to protest and Harry smiled, letting the familiar sound of their bickering soothe him. Clearly if Draco could still tease Ron like that, things couldn’t be all that bad, right?

ooOOooOOoo

After their last class of the day, and heading towards the Halloween feast, they were suddenly surrounded by a wall of red. ~If, by surrounded, you mean there are two of them then yes, Harry, you are technically surrounded,~ Tom murmured, amused.

“Aww, Ickle Ronnikins has been avoiding us ever since he got his sorting,” one of the twins said.

“That’s not right, is it Gred?” the second asked.

“Not right at all, Forge,” the first replied.

“C’mon, you two, we’re hungry, so if you could just budge off,” Ron grumbled, and tried to step around them.

“Aww, but Ronnikins, don’t you-” the first began.

“-want to know-” the second continued.

“-about the letter Mum sent us for you?” the two finished in stereo.

“Why would Mum send a letter to the two of you for me? I’d be more likely to believe it if it were Percy delivering the message, if it was something she couldn’t send to me herself.” Ron’s brow was furrowed, now, and he wasn’t trying to get around them anymore.

“Ron, I’m sure your mother would write you herself if she had anything to say to you. Since your brothers are notorious pranksters, I wouldn’t take anything they had to say very seriously,” Draco pointed out, frowning.

“Butt out, Malfoy,” the first twin said, his tone frosting over. “This doesn’t concern you. It’s a family matter, it is. Isn’t that right, Gred?”

“That’s right, Forge. Mum didn’t want to send the letter to you because she just didn’t have the heart to do it. But Dad insisted, so here we are, delivering the rotten news,” the second twin said, and both twins leaned in close to Ron as though they were about to tell him a secret. “Mum and Dad-” the second whispered.

“-don’t want you-” the first murmured.

“-to come home for Christmas,” both finished in stereo once more.

Ron went red, then white. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped.

“No, it’s true,” the first twin said. “We can’t have a Slytherin of all things at the family Christmas celebration!”

“It isn’t like we older boys really mind, but just think of the ideas it would give poor Ginny?” the second asked, shaking his head.

“You... you’re lying!” Ron barked. “I want to see this letter you two supposedly have from Mum!” He held out one hand, then stared in shock as a scrap of parchment was actually dropped into it. “You have the letter?” he asked weakly, even as he lifted the piece of paper and began to read through it.

“What, did you-”

“-think we were-”

“-making this up?” Both twins had exaggerated sympathetic expressions on their face. Harry’s blood was boiling just from watching.

“No, I... I guess not,” Ron whispered. He pocketed the scrap of parchment, then said, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, guys. I’ll meet you at the feast, okay?” His voice, as he spoke, was choked, and when Harry dared to meet his eyes, they were swimming with tears.

“Ron,” Harry began, but Ron turned and was rapidly walking away in the direction of the nearest set of bathrooms.

Harry rounded on the twins, Fred and George he thought their real names were since Ron almost never talked about them and snarled, “Don’t you think there was a better time to have done that?”

He got two blank looks in return. “Done what? Played our prank?” the first twin asked, a wicked grin coming over his face.

“I’d say it was the perfect time,” the second said, beginning to chuckle now that Ron was out of earshot.

Harry’s rage soared to unheard of heights. “You were joking with him about that?” he roared. “Don’t you know how sensitive Ron is about being Sorted to Slytherin? You... you absolute monsters!”

The second twin shrugged. “He’ll get over it. None of us are going home for Christmas anyway; Mum and Dad are visiting Charlie in Romania. So we’re all stuck here. We just wanted to pull his leg a little, that’s all.”

“There’s pulling his leg and then there’s making him think his family doesn’t want him!” Harry snarled. He moved to draw his wand but stopped the motion midway when he realized that the only things he could think of to cast were very powerful and very dark and though the twins had definitely been cruel, they didn’t necessarily deserve to wear their organs on the outside of their skin. Also, Harry had never actually cast anything of the sort on his own. It was always Tom doing the casting, and Harry wasn’t certain he’d manage on the first try.

And he’d be caught. Casting like that could get Tom taken from him, if there was a way to do that. Harry let his hand fall uselessly back to his side.

“Harry, they’re not going to see that they did anything wrong,” Draco said quietly. “Why don’t we head to the Feast, and then if Ron’s still in the bathroom after we can go and get him?” he suggested.

Harry was about to protest, to insist that they go and get Ron right now, when Draco’s stomach rumbled. Harry was reminded that Draco probably hadn’t eaten lunch at all since Harry had stormed off shortly after the other boy had arrived. So instead he murmured, “That sounds like a plan,” in acquiescence.

As they left, Fred and George were laughing loudly over the success of their prank. Harry hoped they got in trouble for this, but didn’t see a way of bringing about such a thing short of going to Professor Snape and then getting their attention for being a tattler.

~I’m sure we’ll think of something,~ Tom murmured and Harry smiled. Tom always managed the best sorts of revenge.

ooOOooOOoo

The Great Hall was quite lovely, and the food looked to be even more so. Unfortunately, just as he was about to begin eating, Quirrell burst into the room and announced that there was a troll in the dungeons before collapsing into a dead faint.

The Headmaster dismissed them all back to their common rooms, and Harry was about to follow a grumbling Prefect Bennet back to the rooms when he remembered something and froze. “Ron’s not here,” he whispered to Draco, who had stopped and was waiting with one eyebrow raised.

“Then we’ll let the professors know,” Draco answered. “They’ll find him, and we’ll all be safe. Harry, a troll’s nothing to mess around with.”

“No, what if they can’t find him in time? We saw where he was going, we can just run and grab him real fast and nobody will know we did!” Harry was already backing away from the other Slytherin first years, and once the others had rounded the corner he turned and sprinted in the other direction, back towards where they’d been cornered by the twins in the first place.

“This is a terrible idea!” Draco snarled, but he was keeping pace rather easily with Harry.

Tom was clamoring to be heard in his head as well. ~You idiot child, if you get me caught because I had to kill some ridiculous troll, I’ll tan your hide the next time you come to visit me in my study! Do you hear me child? There aren’t many times that I’ll say this, but I’m telling you now, go and tell a prefect or a professor!~

~Oh, come on, Tom, what are the chances that we’ll run into the troll?~ Harry asked, laughing a little in his head. He slowed to a walk, then.

“Harry, come on, we should just tell a professor,” Draco was urging.

Quite suddenly, Harry was knocked to the ground by Ron himself. Harry could have done a victory dance at their luck, but as it was he simply said, “Ron, we found you! Listen, we have to get back to the dormitory, there’s a-”

“Troll! We have to run!” Ron shrieked, and tugged Harry back to his feet. “It’s right behind me!”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Harry whispered as he caught sight of the massive, slobbering beast pounding down the corridor that Ron had just come from. “Let’s go!” he shouted, and Draco and Ron didn’t wait to be told a second time, they both took off running down the hall. Harry followed, not daring to look behind him.

The floor trembled with each step the troll behind them took, and Harry was terrified at the thought of that thing managing to catch up with them. ~You see, I warned you,~ Tom was muttering.

~Not helpful!~ Harry snarled, and then watched in horror as Ron tripped. Harry stumbled forward a few steps, momentum carrying him on, and then he whirled and found that the troll had already caught up to Ron.

There was a sickening crack as the Troll lifted Ron and swung him into a wall, then flung him back down onto the ground. It raised its club, then, and Harry closed his eyes. ~Tom?~ he asked weakly, and took a step back. He couldn’t let Ron die. He hadn’t let Tom have control since he’d killed Vernon, but now there wasn’t much of a choice, was there?

~I’ll take care of it,~ Tom whispered, and Harry was looking over his own shoulder in a way he hadn’t done for months.

“ _Accio_ club,” Tom said, almost bored, and the troll’s club was flung from its hands and hurtled towards Tom. Rather than grabbing it from the air, Tom simply stepped to one side and allowed the club to clatter uselessly to the floor behind him after striking a wall. “Draco, do keep running,” he added as an afterthought.

~You know, it doesn’t count as me getting us caught if you’re doing advanced magic,~ Harry grumbled. Draco, he could see, was not running but rather staring at Harry with something like shock. And terrifyingly enough, just the faintest hint of understanding.

~It does, because you got us into this mess,~ Tom said flatly, even as the troll let out an infuriated bellow and charged them.

Tom swore, dodged the clumsy attack, then snarled, “ _Diffindo!_ ” but all that it did was open a small cut on the troll’s back.

The troll had turned, then, and was charging at Tom once more. ~Sorry Harry,~ Tom whispered, sounding truly regretful, and Harry knew that Tom was done playing.

~Not the Killing Curse,~ he begged, knowing they wouldn’t be able to explain that away a second time.

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ” Tom snarled, and slashed Harry’s wand in a particularly violent set of motions. The spell struck the troll straight in the chest, and Harry watched in horror as the troll’s chest appeared to explode. Blood and gore coated the hallway, and the troll’s momentum carried it forward for only another step before it fell to the ground, dead.

“Y-you,” Draco began, stuttering. He was covered in the troll’s gore, they both were, and he looked rather shell shocked.

Harry couldn’t blame him; he was feeling just the same. Tom gave him control of his body back, just in time for the professors to arrive on the scene. ~The eyes do give it away,~ Tom sang when Harry tried to gather his thoughts enough to protest.

In the end, he didn’t remember what he told the professors, but whatever it was, Draco backed him up on it. The two of them were awarded points for saving their friend from Professor Snape and a lecture on not going to a professor from Professor McGonagall, and then sent back to their dormitory to clean up. Ron was taken to the hospital wing, although Professor Snape did assure them that Ron should be just fine after a night under Madam Pomfrey’s care.

When they arrived at the dungeons, they shocked the entire house into silence with their gory selves. They went right through the common room, the mass of students parting before them. On their way past the tables laden with food, Draco called over his shoulder, “Save Harry and I a plate, would you Blaise? Theo?”

Once they’d gotten an affirmation, the two of them went upstairs to clean up.

It was after they’d scrubbed off, changed into their pajamas, and were about to head back down that Draco whispered, “How did you do it, Harry?”

Harry froze. He didn’t want to lie to Draco, but... telling him the truth was out of the question. He liked Draco, liked Draco quite a lot, but he couldn’t... he couldn’t be sure. Tom was seconding the notion that it was too soon to trust anybody with the truth, and Harry managed to choke out a desperate, “Huh?” as though hoping that maybe Draco might forget the question.

Draco let out a sigh far too deep for his eleven year old self. “I won’t push,” the blonde whispered. “Just know that if you want to talk, I’m here. We all have secrets after all.” And then Draco was brushing past him as though nothing had happened, and headed back down into the still-rowdy common room.

After a moment of silence from both Harry and Tom, Harry followed Draco down.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus was not a stupid man. There was no way in hell that two eleven year old children could take on a fully grown Mountain Troll all on their own. Much less manage to kill one. Yes, Weasley had been in danger, and perhaps that would have been enough to spark some form of accidental magic the way that Potter had claimed it had, but Severus was no fool, unlike Minerva.

He recognized his own spell when it was used, and what had happened to the troll’s torso was most definitely the result of a particularly well-cast and aimed _sectumsempra_. It had to have been cast with more force than an eleven year old should be capable of, too, for the body to have practically exploded as it had. It looked as though the troll had been cut clear through in some spots.

Albus was certainly right. There was something very strange about Harry Potter, and Severus would not rest until he knew the truth of the matter. Something to do with the dark magic that Potter had now called upon twice, magic with a signature so very familiar to Severus... no. That couldn’t be... could it?

Severus closed his eyes against the sudden burst of hope that flared within him. Wishful thinking would get him nowhere. There was still the mystery to figure out, his own wishes be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Though not a direct quote, Snape’s questions are taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, P. 137.


	9. Chapter Eight

As Professor Snape had implied, Ron was back with them in time for breakfast two days later. He didn’t seem to remember much after running into Harry, but Harry thought that was probably a good thing. It couldn’t be pleasant being slammed into the wall by a fully grown troll.

“I just don’t understand how the two of you managed to stop a fully grown troll,” Ron was complaining into his eggs. “They’re supposed to be really hard to stop.”

“I told you, I think that Harry was so concerned about you that there was accidental magic involved,” Draco said, rather patiently in Harry’s opinion, for the third time.

“That’s some powerful accidental magic, Harry,” Ron said around a mouthful of the eggs he’d been studying so fiercely only seconds ago. He accidentally sprayed some of them as he spoke, right at Pansy who was sitting across from him.

“That’s disgusting, Weasley. Swallow before you speak, please,” Pansy said, wrinkling her nose. She brushed off her robes with her napkin and glowered at the redheaded boy.

Ron, rather than listening, instead opened his mouth to speak once more, and bit of food fell out and landed on the tablecloth, prompting a round of giggles from the first year students. Giggles which were swiftly quashed when Prefect Bennet turned a frosty gaze upon them.

And then Ron was frozen in horror because an elderly owl was winging slowly towards him, if you could even call the speed at which he drifted winging, a bright red envelope clutched in its talons. “Oh, no,” he moaned, and caught the owl before it could land. Which was great, because it looked more like it was about to crash than land. “Oh, Errol, why are you bringing me bad news?” he asked mournfully. When he tried to take the red letter, however, the owl nipped at his fingers. That was when Harry noticed the more normal parchment colored envelope just behind the bright red one. “Oh, thank you Mum and Dad,” Ron said fervently, and took the second envelope.

The owl then took off once more before landing in front of the twins. Harry could hear them groaning from all the way over at the Slytherin table, and then the red letter exploded as he watched and a woman’s strident voice rang throughout the hall.

“FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, HOW DARE YOU TELL YOUR BROTHER THAT HE’S NOT WELCOME OVER CHRISTMAS! HE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED BECAUSE OF YOUR CRUEL STUNT! THIS IS THE MOST RIDICULOUS BIT OF NONSENSE YOU’VE PULLED SINCE YOU ENTERED HOGWARTS! YOUR FATHER AND I ARE ASHAMED OF YOU BOTH!” There was a beat of silence and then, still in that same strident tone, “RON, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT YOUR FATHER AND I ARE VERY PROUD OF YOU NO MATTER WHAT HOUSE YOU WERE SORTED INTO!” The letter then burst into flames.

Into the rather ringing silence Harry asked, “What exactly was that?”

The rest of the table burst into laughter around them, and through his giggles Draco answered, “That was a Howler, Harry. No Slytherin student has received one in over a decade.”

“Yes, and let’s keep it that way, shall we?” Prefect Bennet asked. “Which we won’t be able to do if you lot are late to Professor Snape’s class this morning,” he added, one eyebrow raising in an eerie mimicry of Professor Snape’s own gaze. Harry could feel something from Tom at the comparison, but the emotion, whatever it was, was swiftly shut down before Harry could try to figure it out.

Harry cast a swift _tempus_ then grumbled at the time. “Sorry, sir,” he said sincerely as he hopped down and began to gather his things. The others followed him, Ron still grinning rather stupidly over the Howler his brothers had been sent and over his parents acceptance.

ooOOooOOoo

After the excitement of the Halloween incident died down, time flew for Harry once more until they’d reached the Christmas holidays. In between the two events he went to visit Hagrid once, by himself, because he thought the half-giant might be a little lonely out there in his cabin all alone, and Hagrid had invited him to tea. The visit had been nice, even if Hagrid’s dog had tried to knock him down out of enthusiasm. Harry hated dogs.

He also got to watch his very first Quidditch match, which had distressed Tom to no end because all Harry could talk about for a solid week after was how he wanted to learn to play so that he’d be the best Seeker ever in his second year.

But then it was Christmas time at Hogwarts, and Harry was excited for an entirely different reason, even if he wasn’t going to get any presents. He would be spending Christmas with at least one of his friends, and that made Harry so happy he didn’t even think he’d be jealous of the gifts everyone else got. Besides, he’d been able to give gifts out this year, and that was nice too.

Because his parents were really taking his little sister to Romania to see the dragons, Ron was staying with Harry for Christmas at Hogwarts. Draco, on the other hand, had informed them apologetically that the Malfoy family always had a massive Yule party and that he was required to attend. He had looked more and more apprehensive as the week leading up to holidays had gone on, and when he’d finally boarded the train, he’d been so pale and shaky that Harry had worried for his health on the ride back.

He hoped that Draco was okay...

Christmas morning came all too quickly, with Harry far too preoccupied with Draco’s health to think of the presents he probably wouldn’t be getting again this year. The season wasn’t about receiving, anyway, it was about giving, and he’d made sure to give. In fact, he may have gone slightly overboard, considering that this was the first year that he’d had money to do so and people to do so for.

He’d used the school owls to order gifts for Ron and Draco, and slightly less elaborate ones for the other members of his year, and another for Prefect Bennet who, despite all of his grumbling, went out of his way to keep the first years out of too much trouble. Both the other members of his class and Prefect Bennet had received the biggest boxes of Honeyduke’s best that he could order, and Prefect Bennet had received a small journal as well. To Hagrid, Harry had sent a book on exotic Muggle animals on Tom’s advice and a box of gourmet treats for his dog.

Ron had received a massive box of Honeyduke’s best chocolate as well, which Tom had assured him the boy would like because all children loved chocolate, along with a chess set in much better condition than the one he had now. It was a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin themed one, with the pieces in solid yellow and white gold, with real rubies and emeralds as accents. Draco had also received a massive box of Honeyduke’s best, plus a platinum bracelet shaped like a basilisk with emerald eyes and delicately etched scales that carried dozens of protective charms on it. It would heat up if he was about to ingest something dangerous and protect from several of the minor, but more uncomfortable, curses. Both Ron’s and Draco’s gifts had cost him a small fortune, but Tom had assured him that valuable gifts were a token of valuable friendships in the pureblooded world. It was an indication of how much he cared for both of them, and would hopefully bring them even closer together in the long run.

Christmas morning dawned with Harry lying awake in his bed, still contemplating Draco’s health and what it was that had made him shake so badly before boarding the Express. ~What do you think... what do you think is wrong with him?~ Harry asked, but received no response from Tom regarding the matter. Which meant that it related back to... ~Tom?~ Harry asked, his voice very small.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked, his own voice very gentle.

~Do you think his parents are hurting him like Uncle Vernon used to hurt me?~ He winced at the thought, though the memories of his own ordeals at the hand of his uncle were muted by six years worth of Tom’s ardent protection.

~I think the possibility certainly exists,~ Tom said carefully.

~Then we have to stop them!~ The thought of Draco, who was slightly stuck up, entirely too vain, but generally kind to him, the thought of that Draco being tortured by his parents was nauseating.

~And if Draco asks us to, we’ll think of something. But the laws are different here, Harry, especially for a pureblood of Lucius Malfoy’s status. We would have to prove the abuse in the first place, which will be impossible without Draco’s consent.~

Harry scowled up at the curtains of his bed, entirely unwilling to accept that answer. Unfortunately, there wasn’t really anything to be done about it, and Harry was forced to put it out of his mind as Ron woke up and exclaimed excitedly over Christmas morning.

Harry forced himself to sit up, to roll out of bed, and gaped in shock at the presents at the foot of his bed. He didn’t dare to comment on the fact that he’d actually received presents, even though it was just he and Ron in the dormitory as the others had all gone home. It was a poor form to get into, relaxing where others might overhear.

“Oh, no, I think Mum sent you a sweater,” Ron was saying, and Harry smiled at the sight of the lumpy package which, sure enough, contained a handmade emerald sweater and a box of homemade fudge. Harry pulled the sweater on happily and took a piece of the fudge. “You don’t really have to wear it,” Ron said awkwardly as he paused in the act of opening Harry’s gift to him.

“But your mum went to all the trouble of making it,” Harry said placidly around a mouthful of admittedly delicious fudge, and moved on to his next gift.

“Harry!” Ron exclaimed, and Harry smiled as he tore into Ron’s gift to him, which turned out to be a huge bar of the same chocolate that he’d sent everyone else, as well as a nice leather journal that looked slightly worn around the edges. But Harry knew that for Ron these were both very expensive gifts. Knowing what he knew now about the pureblood rules of gifting, Harry was very pleased by it. Ron had probably saved his monthly allowances for the entire year thus far to manage to give these to Harry and presumably Draco.

“What, Ron?” he asked, teasing, and dared to look up.

Ron’s face was flushed and he was gently touching one of the ruby and gold pawns. “It’s lovely,” he responded. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Harry said. “I know how much you love chess.”

There was a smallish package that he opened slowly, savoring every minute of it. He peeked at one corner and saw something silvery and watery and Tom was saying quite suddenly, ~Finish that one when you’re alone Harry. You don’t want anyone to know that you’ve got an invisibility cloak.~

~A what, now?~ Harry asked, even as he quickly shoved the package under his bed before Ron could look up from studying what must be Draco’s gift. It was a small, flat disc made of deep grey stone with beautiful blue runes etched onto the sides of it.

When Harry opened his own present from Draco, he found the same. “What is this?” he asked Ron out loud.

Minerva the kitten, who had grown very big indeed in the last three months, was currently entertaining herself pouncing on the wrapping paper scattered throughout the room by now, and paused with a soft mewl when Harry spoke.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Harry told the cat and absently batted a bit of paper her way, sending her into a frenzy trying to chase the paper ball down, then waited for Ron’s response.

“It’s a transporter (1),” Ron said, sounding puzzled. “You give them when the thing that you’ve purchased is too big to be carried by hand or by owl. I wonder what he could have bought us?”

“How do you work it?” Harry asked, intrigued. Tom was laughing at him in his head, and Harry tuned the Dark Lord out.

“You tap it in the center of the runes, then stand back quickly. Want to do them at the same time?” Ron asked, his lips quirking into a grin.

“Sure!” Harry answered, and the both of them settled their discs on the bed and then tapped them in the center with their wands. There was a moment as both sets of runes glowed in activation, and then both of their beds were filled, overflowing even, with wizarding clothing both casual and not.

“What the-” Ron muttered, as a note for each of them fluttered down and struck both of them on the heads at the same time.

Harry’s note simply read:

_Harry,_

_I know that you don’t have much in the way of wizarding wear, so I took it upon myself to outfit you appropriately for Slytherin house. Please do enjoy these new clothes, and for Merlin’s sake, can we bin the other ones when I return?_

_Yours,_  
_Draco Malfoy_

~So, Tom, was this a valuable gift for a valuable friendship?~ Harry asked as he began to sort through the mountain of clothing on his bed.

~That, Harry, would be a bit of an understatement,~ Tom responded.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus watched carefully as Harry ate at the Christmas Feast. He was talking and laughing with the Weasley boy, gesturing expansively as he explained about some such nonsense or other. Both were dressed in rather elegant new dress robes that had the look of a Malfoy’s taste about them. No doubt they were the Malfoy heir’s present to his two friends. Harry, young and fragile, looked somehow quite regal in those black and silver dress robes. But, despite that, there was nothing familiar in the child’s gestures at all, and that made Severus’s heart clench.

 _Stop being foolish_ , he told himself. _You already knew that it wasn’t what you wanted. You have no right to be upset with him for not being what you want him to be_. His food tasted like ash in his mouth, and he stared unseeing at his plate for several minutes. Without any hope, his grief was as fresh as it had been that first November, when the dust was settling and he found himself entirely alone.

Almost before he knew it, the feast was over and the students were getting up to leave. Severus settled his napkin on top of his plate, the food barely touched, and strode briskly towards Weasley and Potter, who were busy gathering the loot from their crackers.

“Mr. Potter, if I might have a word with you,” he murmured as soon as he’d caught up to them. He shouldn’t do this; this would only lead to further heartache when he knew incontrovertibly that the boy wasn’t what he wanted him to be.

The boy turned and stared at him, vivid green eyes wide in startlement. “Of course, Professor. What can I do for you?”

“In private, if you don’t mind,” Severus said shortly. “I’ll see to it that Potter is returned to your common rooms in time for curfew, Mr. Weasley. If you could take his things back with you?”

“Of course Professor,” the Weasley boy stumbled, shooting Harry a concerned look even as he took Harry’s things. “I’ll see you in the common room, then,” he said awkwardly, and shuffled away behind Bennet.

“Is there something the matter, Professor?” the boy asked him as he followed Severus through the familiar corridors.

“Nothing’s the matter, Potter, I just wanted to go over Halloween with you once more,” he murmured, and stopped in front of his personal rooms. “If you would,” he said, after whispering his password to the painting that guarded it.

Once they were inside, and the door had closed behind him, Severus settled Harry in one of the armchairs by the crackling fireplace. He studied the boy’s face, lit by the flickering firelight, trying to see if there was anything familiar at all in his expression. There wasn’t, and it made him feel like seven kinds of a fool for even considering the notion that...

“Professor?” the child prompted, a gently chiding tone to his voice that was so hauntingly familiar.

It wasn’t possible. He should stop hoping. He needed to stop hoping. But... “Tom?” he asked softly, hesitantly.

The boy stared at him for a moment, his expression unchanging, and then his eyes were bleeding red, and Severus’s own closed in a combination of grief and exaltation.

ooOOooOOoo

~Harry, perhaps I should have told you,~ Tom began as they were following Professor Snape through the corridors. He stopped, then, rather awkwardly, and Harry frowned.

~Perhaps you should have told me... what?~ Harry prompted. Following Professor Snape back to his rooms where the Professor apparently wanted to discuss something private with him was not necessarily the best time for Tom to be cryptic.

~Severus and I...~ Tom stopped, and Harry could feel his embarrassment in a way that he’d never felt anything like that from Tom before.

As they walked into Professor Snape’s rooms, Harry still wondering at being in a professor’s personal rooms, he ground out to Tom, ~Would you just spit it out?~

~We were involved!~ Tom practically shouted, and then fell silent.

Harry sat on the Professor’s couch and stared at him, and Professor Snape stared right back, searching his face for something. There was no doubt what it was that Tom referred to when he said ‘involved’ and Harry wondered suddenly just what Professor Snape thought was going on.

“Professor?” he asked softly.

The man, greasy and sallow and gaunt and with eyes hooded in what Harry now recognized to be grief asked quietly, “Tom?” and Harry’s heart shattered for the man.

~Tom?~ he asked, and took a voluntary step back.

Tom stepped forward, and Harry found himself watching over his own shoulder once more. He hated the sensation, but Professor Snape deserved to speak with the man he’d apparently once loved.

“Not quite, Severus,” Tom murmured, and reached out to gently touch Severus’s hand.

Severus took a great, shuddering breath and released it slowly. “But you are here,” he asked, searching Harry’s face eagerly.

“I am. Inside of Harry. I woke when the child was five, as his Uncle took a belt to him for breaking a glass when his cousin tripped him. He felt just enough hatred in that moment that I managed to regain my awareness.”

“You made him a horcrux when you killed his mother.” It wasn’t a question, delivered so flatly, and Harry felt Tom’s embarrassment rather acutely.

“An accidental one, yes,” Tom said. “Severus... you should know...” He stopped, obviously unable to continue, and looked down and away. Harry could feel a sudden, sharp sensation of sorrow coming from Tom before Tom managed to lock down the emotion. It was too late, of course, because Harry had already felt it, and it concerned him.

Harry frowned. What had Tom so upset? He should know that Harry would let him come out to talk to Severus whenever he wanted to. Harry wouldn’t be so selfish as to deny the two of them that.

“You can’t leave the boy, can you? Nor can you take him over.” The first wasn’t really a question, and the second was said rather brokenly. The man before them was hunched over, now, his greasy hair falling in front of his face to hide his eyes. Harry had no doubt that those eyes would be just moist, if not brimming over at the news.

“I care for him too much. As though he were my own son. I can’t... I fear that soon enough I’ll fade into him entirely. As it stands, I am hard pressed to keep myself from allowing him to feel everything that I do. Once he starts, he’ll start dreaming of my life, and that will be the beginning of the end.” Tom murmured softly to Harry, ~I’m sorry child. I didn’t want for you to find out in this way.~

Harry’s mind swam at the thought. ~We’re merging?~ he squeaked. ~What... why didn’t you tell me? I don’t want to lose you, Tom, I’m not ready to be by myself again!~

~Hush, child. It won’t be for several years yet. I knew when I began interacting with you that this was a possibility; I’m sorry I never quite managed to find a way to tell you until now. We’ll know when the process begins,~ the Dark Lord murmured, and enveloped Harry in a feeling of warmth and comfort.

Aloud, Tom said quietly, “But I’m not the only horcrux out there. There are others, as you know,” he said, with a nod to Severus’s chest. The Potion’s Master’s shaking hand came up to grasp at something hidden beneath his robes and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I will be making my way back in physical form, you know that I will. And when I do, Severus, Harry will need your support.”

“I... of course. You’ll want to kill him until you can figure out what he is,” Severus murmured, an expression of dawning realization crossing his face.

“It won’t take me long, I’m too much of a genius to not realize that Harry will essentially ensure my immortality. The wizarding world will never destroy its savior, and even if I do merge entirely with Harry, he will still count as holding a portion of my soul. He’ll still bind me to this earth. No, it isn’t my other self that I’m concerned about. It’s another group entirely. The one faction that we both know would do anything necessary to stop Voldemort, so long as it was for the greater good.”

Harry waited to see if Professor Snape would catch on, because even though he couldn’t quite follow everything that the two of them were talking about, he knew that at that moment Tom was discussing Dumbledore and his Order. Whatever they’d been discussing regarding the horcruxes was more than a bit over his head.

Professor Snape nodded once, sharply, and said quietly, “I’ll guard Harry with my life, Tom. Even when you’ve joined him completely, know that I will lay down my life for his own should it be necessary. As I will for the portion of your soul that I already carry.”

“I know that you will, Severus. And we are grateful.” Tom leaned up, then, and kissed Severus briefly on the lips. Harry let out a wordless noise of protest, but before he could be more coherent the kiss was already over and Tom was standing. “We should go. Ron will be getting suspicious.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Severus stood, swept into a low bow, and then walked to the door. “If you would? I cannot allow a student to wander the halls so late in the afternoon by himself.”

Tom nodded, whispered a soft, “Goodbye for now, then,” and returned control of Harry’s body to himself.

“Did you have to kiss him with my mouth?” Harry asked aloud indignantly, and only remembered that Professor Snape was still right there when the older man chuckled, a warm sound that made Tom begin to laugh as well.

“I hate you all,” Harry muttered as he followed the still-chuckling Professor through the halls.

ooOOooOOoo

It was late at night, so late that technically speaking it wasn’t even Christmas any longer, but Harry couldn’t go to sleep. He tossed and turned and finally, exasperated with himself, sat up on the bed.

~Tom?~ he asked, and got a sleepy noise as confirmation that Tom was listening. ~Why didn’t you tell me that we were merging?~

He could feel Tom waking up, rousing within him. It was a particularly odd feeling, almost like when Minerva kneaded his stomach, but it was more internal than that. ~Because we’ve still got a few years yet until you really need to worry about me leaving you. Once you can sense all of my emotions, rather than the ones I allow you to sense, then we’ll start worrying.~

~But it’s definitely going to happen?~ Harry asked, and felt so very young when he asked that question.

~I’m afraid so,~ Tom murmured. Harry felt the warmth of Tom’s concern then, and for the first time ever, Harry shoved it away. ~Harry?~ Tom asked, surprise coloring his voice.

~If losing you is the price I pay for being able to sense your emotions, then I’d rather not sense them,~ Harry whispered. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, the world suddenly feeling too big, too cold, too lonely. He didn’t like the thought of losing Tom. Much as it terrified him, he’d come to rely upon the piece of soul living inside of him. He needed Tom, more than he’d ever needed anybody else ever.

~Harry...~ Tom trailed off, and Harry felt the sudden, strange sensation of ghostly arms around him. ~You don’t have to worry about this for a long time. I’m not going anywhere just yet,~ the Dark Lord murmured, and Harry could have sworn he felt Tom’s breath against his ear.

~How are you doing that?~ Harry asked, a little alarmed at the strange sensations. Was this an indication that Tom was merging more quickly into him?

Tom chuckled. ~Don’t worry, it isn’t any such thing,~ Tom responded. There was a moment of silence, wherein Harry savored the feeling of the loose hug, and then Tom said quietly, ~So, there’s the matter of your other Christmas present that I stopped you from opening earlier in the day.~

Harry froze, then swiftly dove off the bed and reached under it, pulling out the still partially wrapped parcel. ~You said it was an invisibility cloak,~ Harry whispered, even as he tore into the paper as quietly as he could. A cloak slipped from the package, silky and silvery and Harry could feel the magic coming off of it. There was a note, too, which read simply:

_Your father left this in my possession before_  
_he died. It is time it was returned to you._  
_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you (2)_

Tom hissed in Harry’s mind, vicious and violent. ~That’s the Headmaster’s handwriting,~ he snarled. ~He undoubtedly took that from your family vault. I swear, as soon as we can get an accounting of your vaults we’re going to find a way to make that bastard pay back every knut he took.~

Harry sighed. He was eleven. He shouldn’t be feeling so much like the responsible one. ~Or, you know, my father might have actually left the cloak in Dumbledore’s care. Didn’t you say that James was Dumbledore’s man?~

~Through and through,~ Tom grumbled. ~But I still don’t like it. I swear that bastard’s up to no good.~

~So are you, Tom,~ Harry pointed out. He hopped down from his bed once more, and Minerva mewled plaintively at him once he’d done so. “Shh,” he hissed to the cat, who shot him a dirty look but then went back to sleep, her back to him. ~So this cloak will do what now? Make me invisible?~ he asked.

~Try it and see,~ Tom suggested.

Harry hesitated. But Tom had never steered him wrong in the past, and so he flicked the cloak around himself. As it settled around him, he glanced down at himself only to find that... that he wasn’t there. Harry let out a startled squeak, and Tom chuckled. ~You could have warned me!~ Harry protested.

~Warned you that what? Your invisibility cloak would make you invisible? My apologies,~ Tom murmured, still chuckling. ~Harry, your cloak will do exactly what it claims to be able to do.~

~I hate you sometimes,~ Harry hissed. He drew the hood up over his head, then, and crept from the dormitory and out into the common room.

Despite the late hour, Prefect Bennet was standing in one corner of the room, having a low-voiced argument with the fifth year male prefect, Rosen maybe? Harry wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear either of them, and he didn’t dare get close enough to do so. But they were both standing with their backs to the entrance hole, even if he would have to get uncomfortably close to them to make it through the door. ~Think I can get out without them noticing me?~ he asked.

~Rosier,~ Tom said shortly, and Harry breathed out a sigh. The child of one of Tom’s people, then, if Tom was a bit offended that Harry hadn’t guessed it. ~Not offended, I just didn’t realize that Evan had managed to reproduce, that’s all,~ Tom said apologetically. ~But yes, whatever they’re arguing about seems to be keeping their entire attention, so I’d say you can safely sneak through.~

As Harry made his way as carefully and as quietly as he could towards the entrance, he caught just a snippet of their conversation. Rosier was saying, “You don’t understand, it isn’t as though I could say no! I don’t have a solid family name to fall back on. My parents were confirmed Death Eaters, you know. My career after Hogwarts relies on his favor!”

“It’s ridiculous, to think that you’d debase yourself in such a way for him of all people. If you’re going to play the lapdog, you should find a bigger and better master to bark after,” Bennet snarled. “If I catch you at it again, I’ll have you up on charges myself.”

And then he was through the door and not hearing anything more of the argument. ~What do you suppose that was about?~ And then, a sly smile blooming over his face, Harry added, ~And what’s a Death Eater?~

~You... I don’t know what they were arguing about. Where are we headed to, anyway?~ Tom asked, and Harry could very faintly feel his embarrassment again.

~You didn’t answer my second question,~ Harry sang, even as he began to wander down a disused hallway. ~And we’re exploring. How old is Hogwarts? There must be some forgotten secret passages or something. Just think of how much fun it would be for Draco, Ron and I to sneak around the castle!~

~There are dozens of secret passageways. I myself discovered quite a few when I was attending, not that I’m going to encourage your delinquency by telling them to you. I was a head boy, you know, and it would be remiss of me to give you such information,~ Tom answered smugly. ~And... Death Eaters are my supporters, if you must know.~ This last was said quite rapidly, as though Tom thought that Harry wouldn’t understand him if he slurred his words together.

Harry had to stop walking, he was laughing so hard. ~You named your followers Death Eaters? Really, Tom?~ he asked, leaning heavily against one of the stone walls.

~Well, if you’re going to mock me over it,~ Tom said, and his tone was so affronted that it did nothing to help Harry stop laughing. ~But seriously, we could head for the library. Look into what powerful magical artifacts could have fit into Hagrid’s paper bag.~

Harry got himself under control and started moving once more, headed for the library at Tom’s suggestion. When he was almost there, Harry stopped and wandered into a disused classroom close by. ~You’ve got to be kidding me, Tom. I’ve got this awesome cloak that lets me sneak about the school, and you really want me to go to the library of all places?~

~Well, when else do you propose that we use the Restricted Section? Although...~ Tom hesitated, then said, ~I suppose we could just ask Severus what was in the package. He might know.~

Harry banged his head against the door of the room they’d entered. ~Are you serious? I mean, really, are you serious? You just now realized that we could ask...~

~Don’t take that tone with me, child!~ Tom snarled. ~I didn’t want Severus to know that I was here with you. Think of how torturous it is for the both of us, to know that we’re here and we cannot interact, cannot kiss, cannot... you simply are too young to understand.~

Harry immediately felt guilty. It was his fault that Professor Snape now knew about him. If he hadn’t gone haring off after Ron, they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Of course, Ron might have died and that wasn’t exactly acceptable either. ~I’m sorry,~ Harry offered. He hadn’t meant to hurt anybody when he’d gone for Ron. In fact, he’d wanted just the opposite.

~No, it’s fine,~ Tom said dismissively. ~It is what it is, and I’ve learned to accept that fact. I can’t be with him, not anymore, not in this form. I realized there was no separating us from about a year ago, when I killed that vile dog for you. Your distress up in that tree was influencing my own moods; had it not been, I never would have cared enough to kill the pathetic little mongrel. And when another version of me returns to corporeal form, Severus will return to their side, as it should be.~ Despite Tom’s casual words, Harry could sense a pain in them that he was far too young and inexperienced to understand.

Harry sighed. ~So I assume you would rather I go to the library than ask Professor Snape for whatever it was that Dumbledore’s stashing on the third floor?~ He didn’t want to think about Tom being stuck in his mind for the rest of their existence. It seemed so unfair to him.

~It would be preferable. No need to salt Severus’ wounds any further. He’s already got to be missing me something fierce,~ Tom answered.

Harry sighed. Research. On the one hand it was amazing to learn so much about the wizarding world, on the other, he hated spending his time reading dusty old books when there were so many more fun things he could be doing. Learning by doing rather than reading was always more fun. But at least if he was doing the research in the middle of the night he wouldn’t be missing out on too much of the rest of the world.

He was just about to leave the room when a glint of something caught his eye. Harry froze, then turned to investigate. ~What’s this?~ he asked Tom, even as he stepped closer.

‘This’ happened to be a full-length, massive mirror, and Harry found himself quite entranced by what he could see when he looked into it. It was painfully obvious that it wasn’t real, given what he knew now about himself and Tom, and the fact that no such scene had ever happened, but the sight of it took Harry’s breath away with a want he hadn’t even realized he’d had.

Tom, and he, on Christmas morning. He was little, still, little enough to think that the wrapping paper was far more entertaining than the toy broomstick he’d just gotten. Tom was on the floor with him, smiling indulgently as the little Harry in the mirror tore through the wrapping paper and then picked up a piece of it and tore it again. A few moments later, a far more relaxed than Harry could ever remember seeing him Professor Snape walked into the scene, settling onto the couch in the room after kissing Tom lightly on the forehead.

~Harry, you need to look away now,~ Tom said quietly in Harry’s mind.

But Harry in the mirror was older, now, and visiting Diagon Alley with both of his hands being held by Tom and Professor Snape. They were headed into the pet store where Harry had gotten Minerva, Harry gesturing excitedly at all dancing rats and Professor Snape sneering down at them before redirecting the still-little Harry towards the fantastically colored kittens.

~Harry!~ Tom called sharply, and Harry turned away from the mirror with a gasp.

~What was that?~ Harry asked, knowing that whatever it was that he’d seen it couldn’t possibly be real.

~The Mirror of Erised. It shows not your face but your heart’s desire. It’s a terribly dangerous artifact that has been known to drive a man mad trying to reach the things shown within,~ Tom said, disapproval making his tone dark. ~That Dumbledore would bring such a thing here where any student could stumble upon it is truly sickening.~

~I should leave here,~ Harry whispered, though he dared to chance one more look towards the mirror.

~You should leave here,~ Tom agreed. ~And you should not come back. It’s far too dangerous.~

Harry wrenched his gaze from the bewitching family scene within the mirror with some difficulty, then crept from the room. ~I’ve had enough of exploring for the night,~ he said to Tom.

Tom didn’t disagree, and they went back to the dormitories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The only place I’ve ever seen a transporter mentioned is in Janara’s fanfic, “Not Your Usual Veela Mate," located over on fanfiction.net I use the object in question with her permission, for anybody who recognizes it. And if you don’t recognize it, I do highly enjoy (despite the fact that it looks like it won't ever be finished).
> 
> (2) Dumbledore’s letter taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, P. 202.


	10. Chapter Nine

The Christmas holidays passed swiftly after the Mirror of Erised incident, and before Harry knew it Draco had returned to the castle, wearing his platinum bracelet and looking thinner and paler than ever. Harry hated the sight of him like that, but soon enough the fragile blonde was smiling and laughing once more, and after a few good meals didn’t look quite so fragile, and so Harry relaxed. It wasn’t as though there was anything he could do for Draco without Draco confiding in him, anyway. So he focused on other things, things like the package secreted away on the third floor.

In the end, Harry decided not to ask Professor Snape for information about the package most likely hidden away in the third floor corridor. He didn’t want to upset the Professor. It was obvious after their visit with him on Christmas day that the Professor wasn’t quite over Tom, even if it had been the better part of a decade since Tom’s passing. And anyway it didn’t matter because, in a stroke of luck that didn’t often come for him, Harry didn’t have to ask anyone at all. The information wound up coming to him from a very unlikely source: Hagrid.

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this again,” Draco grumbled. He was slogging through the snow at Harry’s side, Ron trudging away with the both of them, though not complaining nearly as much as Draco had.

“You certainly didn’t have to come,” Harry said with a small sigh. He adored both of his friends, he really did, but did Draco have to be so very... prissy? Yes, that was the word he wanted. Draco was very prissy, and it was rather annoying at times. “I was just talking to Hagrid earlier, thanking him for the lovely flute he gave me for Christmas, and he invited me over to his hut to see something.”

“Like I’m going to let you visit that barbarian by yourself!” Draco hissed, indignant.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, to defend Hagrid and tell Draco that Hagrid was a perfectly nice half-giant, when Tom interrupted. ~I see that Draco and I can agree on one thing at least,~ Tom piped up from the back of Harry’s mind. ~He probably wants to show you yet another dangerous monster he thinks is adorable.~

~I’m sensing some bitterness in there about something,~ Harry shot back, and got nothing but silence from Tom for his trouble. With a barely noticeable smirk, he said to Draco what he’d been planning on before Tom could interrupt. “Hagrid, while certainly not conventional, is not a barbarian. He’s a very kind man who gifted Minerva to me, and in doing so gave me my first ever birthday present. And, he gave me a perfectly lovely Christmas present on top of that. So I’m going to visit him, because you never know when having a friend like Hagrid might come in handy.”

“If you insist,” Draco growled. “And just so long as my Christmas present was better than some flute.”

Harry was just about to open his mouth to respond that, yes, as a matter of fact of course it was, but Ron instead chimed in with, “I don’t see why you’re so cranky, Draco, you didn’t have to come.” Clearly Harry was going to have to practice the valuable skill of interrupting people if he ever wanted to get a word in edgewise.

Though, really, he should be used to this by now. He’d only been friends with Ron and Draco for how long? At least Ron was looking rather excited about meeting with Hagrid; ever since he’d seen Hagrid kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek during the Christmas feast he’d wanted to meet the groundskeeper. Anybody that had the nerve to do that was alright in Ron’s book, apparently. He’d said as much to Harry just after Harry had returned from Professor Snape’s rooms.

“How many times have I told you, Weasley, don’t call me by my name! I haven’t given you permission!” Draco seethed.

“Oh, come off it, Draco. After the amazing present you gave me? You can’t tell me that you don’t think of me as a friend!” Ron said. As he spoke, he fingered the warm sky-blue cloak that had been one of the many pieces of clothing that he and Harry had both received.

“That was for the honor of Slytherin house! Your clothing was deplorable, Weasley!” Draco protested, but there wasn’t any bite in his words.

Harry was very relieved to interrupt the rather familiar argument by saying, “Guys, we’re here.” Both Ron and Draco stopped their bickering to stare at the rather run-down little cottage. Harry could still remember the first time he’d seen it only a month or so ago. He remembered thinking that it was somehow both not what he’d expected and exactly what he’d believed it would be.

“This is where he lives?” Draco asked, managing to fit so much more disdain into those five words than Harry had ever thought possible. “What an absolute dump.”

“I think it has character,” Ron shot back.

When Draco opened his mouth to respond, Harry rolled his eyes. “Both of you behave yourselves,” he admonished. He then, without waiting for a response from either of them, walked right up to the door and knocked on it. He was answered almost immediately by a series of loud, booming barks that made him take an apprehensive step back. But he’d met Fang once already, so he was prepared when the door opened and the huge boarhound leapt out at him gleefully.

Harry hated dogs, loathed them with a passion after dealing with Aunt Marge’s nasty mutt, but he played along gamely and rubbed at Fang’s ears, cooing over the slobbering hound like he might have cooed over Minerva in his more gooey moments. Not that he ever had gooey moments. As a result, he got dog fur all over himself, plus his left sleeve covered in doggy drool, which had the bonus of making Draco look absolutely horrified which couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. The blond was entirely too careful over his own appearance, and far too eager to instruct everybody else on why they should be as well.

“How was your Christmas, Hagrid?” Harry asked politely once everything had settled down and they were all seated around Hagrid’s roughly carved table. He was looking around the room, trying to figure out what Hagrid had wanted him to see, when his eyes fell upon something large and distinctly egg-shaped over in the corner. His eyes widened, and he heard Tom start swearing in the back of his mind. He tuned Tom out, because otherwise Tom would be very put out at himself later on for using those words where Harry, an impressionable eleven year old, could hear.

“It wasn’ bad,” the half-giant rumbled. “Go’ a lo’ of nice stuff; thanks fer tha’ book yeh got me, Harry. An’ Fang loved the biscuits yeh go’ fer ‘im.” Hagrid offered him a wide, guileless smile.

Harry couldn’t help but return it. There was something so very kind and wholesome about the half-giant that Harry really appreciated. “I’m glad you liked them! The flute’s awesome, even if I still don’t quite know how to play it properly. But I’m trying!”

“Yes, and we all wish you would stop trying,” Draco threw out, a grimace on his face. “He always seems to be trying when the rest of us are sleeping,” he offered to Hagrid. Draco took a sip of his tea, and Harry clearly saw the young man hide a grimace at the taste.

“Yeah, but if I try to practice the flute before I do my homework, it gives Draco fits. So I lose either way,” Harry said with a sort of mock-despondence that made Draco glower at him. At least until he passed Draco the cream and sugar for the tea. “But Hagrid, you said you wanted to show me something? Is it perhaps that dragon egg that you’re trying so hard to pretend isn’t in the corner there?”

Hagrid flushed and said, “Harry, yeh know I always wanted one fer meself.” The half-giant walked over to the egg and knelt down next to it, gently running a hand along the black shell. “This one’ll be mine ter take care of an’ to raise as me own. I’ve already decided I’m gonna call ‘im Norbert when he hatches,” Hagrid added enthusiastically.

“It’s a dragon egg,” Ron said, sounding entirely nonplussed. “They’re illegal.” He stood up, though, and went over to the egg to poke at it a bit, clearly quite curious.

“You could get sent to Azkaban this time. It’s enough that you were expelled for keeping an Acromantula on school grounds, but this?” Draco sneered derisively and added, “If it hatches, you’ll have a lot more trouble on your hands than you were wanting.”

“Not that we’re going to tell anyone, or anything like that,” Harry said hastily, kicking Draco’s foot under the table. The blond was startled by the kick, but nodded once, sharply. “We just think that maybe we should find a safer place for the dragon? You know, safer than at a school where it might hatch and accidentally hurt somebody.”

“Aww, Harry, it’ll be jes’ a baby when it hatches, it won’ hur’ nobody,” Hagrid said, staring down at the egg rather forlornly. “‘sides, I though’ I could replace Fluffy the Cerberus with ‘im once he’s grown a bi’,” Hagrid added thoughtfully.

“Fluffy the... Cerberus?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raising.

Hagrid froze. “I shouldn’ta tol’ yeh that,” the half-giant rumbled. “Forget I said anythin’ ‘bout that,” he suggested.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Hagrid?” he asked, as innocently as he could. “Is there a Cerberus in the school guarding the package you picked up from Gringotts that’s in the third floor corridor?”

“Here now, tha’ package is ‘tween Nicholas Flamel an’ the Headmaster, and it isn’ none o’ your business!” Hagrid exclaimed.

“Of course it isn’t!” Harry exclaimed, and offered Hagrid his most innocent look ever. It worked, because Hagrid deflated almost immediately. ~Tom, what did Albus and Nicholas Flamel work on together, anyway?~ “But Hagrid, in all honesty, I don’t think that you should be keeping a baby dragon here. I think that it’s just asking for trouble.”

~I’m thinking, child. Focus on this idiot’s dragon problem while I figure out what’s going on,~ Tom sent back rather peevishly. Harry’s eyebrows arched in surprise before he brought his expression back under control, but thankfully nobody seemed to have noticed.

“But he doesn’ have anywhere else ter go,” Hagrid was complaining. “‘f I send him somewhere, they migh’ no’ take proper care o’ him. An’ he’s jes’ an egg, he can’ survive ou’ there on ‘is own.”

Ron spoke up then with the offer of, “My brother works at a dragon reserve. I’m sure that they’d be able to take him on for you.”

Hagrid looked so pathetically grateful at that it made Harry want to throttle the man. Honestly, who thought that raising a dragon in a wooden hut of all things was a good idea?

In the end, Ron firecalled his brother from Hagrid’s hut, and it was as simple as pushing the egg through the Floo before Hagrid could change his mind. Charlie promised Hagrid to send him regular updates on the baby dragon, and to send him pictures as soon as the egg hatched. And pictures of the egg. And pictures of the egg as it hatched. Lots and lots of pictures Charlie offered to appease Hagrid, and Hagrid seemed intent on wanting more before Harry finally gently suggested that it was time to end the firecall.

The three left Hagrid’s hut that night feeling rather accomplished, and once they reached the dorms and Draco and Ron had gone to bed, Harry quietly thought to Tom, ~So who’s Nicholas Flamel?~

Tom let out a sigh. ~Nicholas Flamel is a rather famous wizard. I haven’t quite gotten up to him yet in your magical education, and for that I’m sorry. He’s the only known creator of the Sorcerer’s Stone, which is doubtlessly what is hidden away and what Quirrell wants.~

~So that means what, exactly?~ Harry asked, because he could sense that Tom still had more to say on the matter.

~It means that you’ve been right all along. The reason that Quirrell seems so familiar to you is that he’s carrying a piece of my soul. And he wants to use the Sorcerer’s Stone to bring about my resurrection.~ Tom’s thoughts were weighty, but Harry couldn’t quite make out the reason behind them. He was actually rather grateful for that, because it meant that they weren’t close to merging. Not now, anyway.

~So we should help him, right?~ Harry asked, just to be certain. He already knew enough about the state of the wizarding world to know that he stood against Dumbledore. The man had left him with rotten, abusive Muggles and hadn’t even bothered to check on him! Besides, Dumbledore would no doubt want to get rid of Tom, and Harry wasn’t having that. Not before he had to, anyway.

And... while he didn’t necessarily agree with all of Voldemort’s ideas, Harry firmly believed that the Dark Lord was at least going in the right direction. Harry had seen for himself how Muggles feared that which they didn’t understand; he believed that if the truth were ever to come out to Muggles they would seek to destroy wizards. And as Tom had taught him not so long ago, a wizard couldn’t fight a gun. Which meant that for now, until Harry could think of a better way, he was on the side of the Dark.

~We should help him, definitely. He’ll wait until the Headmaster is out of the school, and then he’ll make his move. We’ll move at the same time, and see if there isn’t anything we can do to help him. If he doesn’t need our help to get to the Stone, then we’ll just leave things well enough alone.~ There was a moment of silence, then Tom added, ~Not that I think there’s much that an eleven year old child can do that I can’t, even if I am at a portion of my old power and reduced to possessing a blithering idiot.~

~Are you excited? You may be about to rise again,~ Harry said teasingly, not bothering to comment that he certainly wasn’t a normal eleven year old anyway. ~Which was what you wanted all along.~

~I just don’t know if it’s too soon or not,~ Tom mused. And then, gently, ~It’s late, Harry. You should rest. Morning will come all too soon, and you’ve had a rather busy day.~

Harry nodded and curled up under his blankets, slung a careful arm around Minerva the not-so-kittenish any longer, and was asleep practically before his eyes closed.

ooOOooOOoo

After the almost incident with Hagrid and the dragon egg, Harry buckled down and focused on his classes. Classes, he found, were generally quite easy once he put his mind to it. Even history, which was boring as anything with Binns teaching it, was fascinating when Harry read through some of the library books on his own. Of course, the fact that Harry was actually doing all of his course work on his own without Tom’s help didn’t stop Professor Snape from cornering him one evening and demanded that he follow him to his quarters once more.

Once they’d arrived, the Professor said quite sternly, “Earlier in the year, Tom answered some questions for you in my class.” There was a severe frown on his face. From the look in the Professor’s eyes, it was clear that he’d just now figured out what had happened on that first day of classes, when Harry had the two answers not in their first year textbook.

Harry flushed. He’d almost forgotten about that. “He hasn’t done it since,” Harry offered. “Well, other than last Wednesday, when I had to stabilize Neville’s potion again. You’ll have to forgive that; I didn’t actually want to be covered in boils.”

“I can certainly understand that,” the Professor agreed with a sharp nod. “I would like to warn you, however, that if I catch the two of you cheating on any assignments, no matter what the reason is, I will be certain to provide you both with special assignments that will be challenging for Tom, and as such quite impossible for you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gulped. “You really won’t have to do that, sir. Like I said, I haven’t let Tom answer any questions for me since we accidentally did it the first time in your class. He insists that if it weren’t Slytherin for me, it would have been Ravenclaw with the way that I hate to have a puzzle spoiled.”

Tom pushed rather insistently against Harry’s mind, so Harry sighed and took a step back with the whispered warning, “No kissing using my lips this time, okay?” Which had the added effect of Tom chuckling as he took over Harry’s body.

“Honestly, Severus, the answers I gave him were more out of reflex than anything else. And it isn’t as if you wouldn’t have taken points had he not known the answers anyway,” the Dark Lord added with a smirk.

“That, my Lord, is beside the point,” Severus protested. He was smiling as he said so, but it seemed to be a bittersweet sort of smile. Harry felt such a pang of hurt for the Professor at that moment that he was hard pressed not to take his body back just to hug the man. Not that he could do that anyway. He still didn’t know how to push Tom out of the ‘driver’s seat’ of their body, just as Tom couldn’t actively force Harry out of it.

But Tom seemed to hear his thoughts, and immediately stepped forward to hug the Potion’s Master rather awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Severus,” he murmured. “Sorry that I’ve done this to us.”

They stood like that for a long moment, then Professor Snape sighed and placed his hands on Tom’s shoulders and stepped away. “I’d rather know that you were alive and stuck in the body of a child than know that you were dead because of my mistakes,” the man murmured.

“The less said about that prophecy the better,” Tom grumbled. Tom leaned up just a bit, as though going to kiss the Professor once more, then froze and jerked back. “Was there anything else you needed from us?” Tom asked, cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

Harry was really glad it wasn’t just him who was weirded out by this whole thing, even if Tom’s reasons for being weirded out differed greatly from his own. How strange must it be to be so much shorter and younger and more vulnerable than the lover he’d previously commanded? Not to mention, how difficult it would be to know that Severus would be moving on, eventually, with another version of him. Harry felt awful for Tom, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it.

“That was all. I just think that Mr. Potter should learn magic on his own, not have everything fed to him by a spirit who’s already had a chance to live out his school days,” Severus responded dryly.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, Severus. I’m sure that had we been in another universe, Mr. Potter would most definitely have wound up in Ravenclaw. He’s far too curious and intelligent for his own good.” Tom smiled then turned control over their body back to Harry.

“Should I be insulted by that?” Harry wondered aloud, as he left the Professor’s offices.

~Not at all, child. It was a compliment to your intelligence,~ Tom murmured back.

ooOOooOOoo

After that conversation with Professor Snape, Severus, as Tom constantly called him within Harry’s head, Harry found that he had little to do but sit and wait. He was more than ready for all of his exams, having studied his texts to death at Draco’s urging, and for his own entertainment, not that he would let that on, so all that remained to do was wait. It was pathetically boring, but it was made more bearable by the incredibly exciting Quidditch matches as well as Draco and Ron and their incessant bickering. Both of which annoyed Tom, but for some reason Harry found that to be more of a bonus than anything else.

Perhaps he simply felt the Dark Lord was far too stodgy to be sharing his eleven year old body? Oh how he’d laughed when Tom had caught that particular thought. Tom had been nearly incoherent with rage, and there was nothing he could do. Harry couldn’t help it; he so delighted in needling the Dark Lord.

The moment came, as moments such as this tend to do, when Harry least expected it. It was at dinner on a night in early June when he realized that the Headmaster was not present at the high table. ~Tom?~ Harry asked, ~Do you think that Quirrell will make his move tonight?~

~I’d say it’s almost a certainty,~ Tom answered.

~So then, we sneak out after curfew and see what we can do about aiding him, if he even needs our help?~ Harry suggested.

~That seems wise. But we will need to be cautious. I’m almost certain that this is a trap of some sort. Just... not necessarily for the Dark Lord.~

~You think Dumbledore’s that onto us, then?~ Harry asked. He wanted to be absolutely certain of what they would be up against.

~I think there’s a possibility that Dumbledore knows more than we want him to,~ Tom answered carefully.

Harry frowned into his mashed potatoes, but ate quickly and efficiently. He was certain he would need all of his energy for whatever lay ahead.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry waited until everybody in the dormitory was asleep. This was an easy enough thing to do, considering that both Ron and Theo snored rather loudly and Blaise was almost always the first one to sleep. Draco neither snored nor was he the first to sleep, but chances were fairly good that if everybody else was out then so was Draco. He never stayed awake much past the others, anyway, at least not that Harry had noticed.

Still, to be safe, Harry waited a good twenty minutes after Ron’s snoring started, then he slid out of bed and got dressed as quickly and quietly as he could. He flung his invisibility cloak around his shoulders and crept down the stairs into the common room. He’d almost made it to the door when he heard a soft voice whisper, “So, you got an invisibility cloak for Christmas?”

Harry flushed with guilt and he lowered the hood of his cloak before turning to face Draco. The slender blonde was seated on the low couch closest to the door, looking right at him. It was clear that he’d been following Harry’s progress through the room quite easily even with the cloak on. “It was a family heirloom, passed down anonymously from my father,” he whispered. “You should be in bed, Draco,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“I’m not the one who’s about to go sneaking off into some sort of danger. Confronting Professor Quirrell, perhaps?” Draco asked. He stood, revealing that he was dressed as well in robes that Harry had never seen. They were a deep green, so dark as to be almost black, and they were entirely open. There were silver runes etched along the hem of the robes, elegant and yet clearly serving a purpose of some sort other than just as decoration.

~Dueling robes,~ Tom supplied softly. ~Now that I think of it, you should have worn the set that Draco gave you for Christmas. They provide some protection from minor curses, and the better ones can also amplify the power of some spells. You’ll recognize that kind by the trim on the arms of the robes, such as that on Draco’s.~

“I’m not... what are you doing down here, Draco?” Harry asked softly, rather than answering Draco’s assumption. He would rather not reveal everything about himself to his friend, despite the fact that he did want to trust both Draco and Ron with this other part of himself.

Draco closed his eyes. “My father sent me the most interesting set of instructions the other day. He tells me that there is a chance that our lord will rise again this night, and that my only task is to stop any who would interfere. Like the two Slytherins who should be Gryffindors that I seem to have erroneously befriended.” As he spoke, Draco’s voice grew more and more frigid, until it seemed as though ice was dripping from the words. It was an odd tone for Draco to take, and it took Harry several precious seconds to figure out why the blond was using it.

And then it clicked. These were not Draco’s words. Draco looked far too anguished for the words to actually be his. He was repeating somebody, no doubt his father. As though Harry didn’t already have enough reason to hate the man. “Then it’s a good thing that I’m not planning on interfering in our Lord’s resurrection, isn’t it?” Harry asked gently.

Draco’s breath left him in a soundless sigh. “I told my father. I told him that you were nothing like your father. That you truly were one of us. I told him about the spell on Halloween, Harry, you have to know that I told him! But he wouldn’t listen, Harry. You have to understand that I told him!” Draco’s pretty grey eyes were quite desperate, and his hand were shaking now. Harry felt so very sorry for the boy.

“I understand, Draco,” Harry said softly, gently. He took a step towards the now-trembling boy and offered him one hand, as though to shake. “Do you want to come with me? We could witness our Lord’s return together.”

Draco’s trembling hand came up to grasp at Harry’s own. “I’d like that,” the Malfoy heir whispered.

Harry wrapped them both in his cloak. As he did so, he heard Tom grumbling in the back of his mind, ~I’m rethinking the idea of you being friends with him, Harry. He might be a little more unstable than I’d anticipated.~

~Could that have something to do with, oh, I don’t know, being abused by his father?~ Harry couldn’t help but snark back. ~You know, that little minor detail that I’ve been wanting to do something about since Christmas?~

~It certainly could, and don’t take that tone with me, child.~ Tom’s voice was disapproving, and Harry couldn’t help his smile.

“What’s so funny?” Draco asked quietly, his voice infinitely more steady now that the two of them were under the cloak together and he knew that Harry wasn’t going to betray the Dark Lord.

“It’s a little complicated to explain,” Harry responded, still not quite willing to tell Draco about Tom, although he thought maybe he might have to soon enough. Then they were setting off through the halls in search of the mysterious third floor corridor, and all of their attention was focused on not getting caught.

ooOOooOOoo

With Tom and Draco’s help, it didn’t take the two of them very long at all to navigate the traps that made up the guards for the Sorcerer’s Stone. Harry had been concerned that the traps in question would prove too difficult for them, but they were actually quite simple. Simple enough for two eleven year olds to navigate without much input at all from Tom, in fact. Although, having Ron there certainly would have made the giant chess set much easier. As it was, Tom fed Harry instructions to get him through that mess; Harry never would have managed it. Draco might have, but Tom was too impatient to let him try.

~This is ridiculous. It’s almost like he wanted you to get the stone,~ Harry complained as they stood before the final trap, clearly designed by Professor Snape. It was the only one that was even remotely difficult, mostly because Harry had demanded that Tom let he and Draco try to solve it since it was just a riddle. Draco solved it quite simply, and the two of them moved on through the flames guarding the stone.

Professor Quirrell was in there, pacing before, of all things, the Mirror of Erised, hissing and snarling to himself about how he couldn’t get it, and why couldn’t he get it? “All I want is the stone, you stupid mirror!” the Professor howled. “I can see myself holding it, so why can’t I get it?”

“Perhaps we could be of some assistance?” Harry offered. ~How can we be of assistance, Tom?~ he added, and Tom burst into startled laughter.

~What, you didn’t come here with a plan, little one?~ Tom asked, still chuckling. ~As it happens, I believe that we can get the stone out where my other self would fail.~

“Potter! What are you doing here? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Quirrell snarled, rounding on Harry. He drew his wand in one smooth motion, then frowned. “Malfoy? Are you really turning your back on your family by trying to stop me?” he asked, sounding puzzled.

Harry blinked, because Draco had drawn his wand as well and was pointing it at Quirrell. “No, sir, I just won’t stand by and let you hurt Harry. He’s here to help you, not to stop you,” the blond explained softly.

“What is this? Quirrell, you fool, unbind me at once!” a sharp, familiar voice commanded, and Harry smiled. He would know that voice anywhere, even with his own eyes blindfolded.

“My Lord,” Harry offered, and dropped to one knee. Tom had drilled him on the proper address of the Dark Lord when in public from the moment he’d gained awareness, practically, and Harry could do nothing that would embarrass the horcrux inside of him. He owed Tom that much, and so much more besides.

“My Lord,” he heard Draco echo, and when he dared to glance out of the corner of his eye, saw that Draco had followed suit and was down on one knee as well.

“I’m almost positive that I’m no lord of yours, Potter,” the Dark Lord said flatly, and Harry dared to glance up. What he saw made him grimace. The Dark Lord had attached his face to the back of Quirrell’s head; it was quite gruesome looking actually. “And yet, what is this I sense from you? What power is this?”

“My Lord, you gave me something on the night you killed my parents,” Harry whispered. “You gave me a piece of yourself that you didn’t intend on separating. This piece, which I call Tom, has been instructing me for years on the wizarding world and its deficiencies. Your way, while still not the right way in my admittedly young opinion, is better than the mess we’ve got now. It would be my honor to assist you in your rise to glory.”

“You’re my horcrux,” Voldemort murmured. “How... fascinating. And you say that the piece within you has gained sentience, yet has not tried to take you over. Truly a remarkable thing. Well, Potter, you’ve intrigued me.” The Dark Lord said with a smirk, “Prove to me that you want to help me, and I’ll let you leave this chamber alive while I contemplate your loyalty and your tale. Get me the stone, as Quirrell has failed to do.”

Harry rose smoothly to his feet and stood before the mirror on Tom’s instruction. ~Now, Harry, all I need for you to do is imagine that you’re holding the stone, not using the stone. Keeping it safe, and above all else, not using it. And then look into the mirror,~ Tom whispered.

Harry closed his eyes, thought very fiercely of keeping the stone safe rather than using it, and glanced into the mirror. He saw himself, smiling, and placing an unassuming stone into his pocket. Once he felt the weight of the stone in said pocket, he turned and dropped to one knee once more, pulling the stone from his pocket and offering it up.

“My lord,” he whispered.

“Good boy. Very good boy,” the Dark Lord murmured. He snatched the stone from Harry’s fingers, caressed it once, then said quietly, “But I can’t have it looking as though the two of you were actually helpful, no, that would only make things worse for you in the long run.”

Harry dared to look up, to see that Voldemort was tapping Quirrell’s wand against his lips rather thoughtfully. “No, I’ve just the thing. I apologize, children, but it’s for the best in the long run. I think you’ll both agree that a touch of torture now is better than Azkaban until I can break you out. _Crucio_!” the Dark Lord shouted, and Draco began to writhe and scream.

Harry braced himself, and just in time as the Dark Lord once more shouted, “ _Crucio_!” and the bolt of red light struck Harry full on. He screamed himself raw and hoarse, and the spell carried on for quite a long time, how long Harry couldn’t exactly say, before it cut out rather abruptly.

As Harry lost his battle with consciousness, he heard the tap of footsteps and an old man’s familiar voice saying, “Oh, dear, this isn’t what was supposed to have happened at all. I wonder what could have gone wrong?”

And then he knew no more.


	11. Chapter Ten

~Harry, can you wake up for me?~ Tom was asking softly as Harry blinked his way slowly into consciousness.

~I’m awake,~ Harry whispered mentally, too exhausted to think much at all. His body was still singing with pain, echoed pain that had flowed over his entire body while the Dark Lord cursed him. ~Why did he... Tom? Why did he torture us?~

~Because he was right,~ Tom said regretfully. ~I wasn’t thinking of it either. Of course Dumbledore would have been suspicious had he found you and Draco in perfect health, with the stone missing, and your magical signatures all over his traps. No, as painful as this was, as much as I wanted to step out and kill him for hurting you, I’m certain that Voldemort made the right decision with the two of you.~

Harry sighed, let his eyes slip closed once more. ~Is Draco okay?~ he asked sleepily. ~And how long have I been out, anyway?~

~I don’t know about Mr. Malfoy. I’ve been unable to check on him. As for how long you’ve been out, I would imagine not for long at all, though I cannot say for certain. The Cruciatus Curse doesn’t generally cause much in the way of physical damage unless left on for far longer than that particular one was. Although you will find yourself far more easily exhausted than you might ordinarily be as your magical core tries to recover.~

~Does experiencing it frequently over an extended period of time cause physical damage in children?~ Harry asked softly.

~I... I don’t know. I never permitted my followers to torture children, nor did I ever make a study of such a thing.~ Tom didn’t ask why Harry wanted to know, because Harry knew that Tom was thinking along the same lines. What else would a pureblooded Dark wizard use to abuse his son? Lucius Malfoy would no doubt consider it to be too plebeian to stoop to physical punishment.

“Harry? Are you awake over there?” Draco asked suddenly, his voice only slightly shaky.

Harry forced himself to sit up, to offer Draco a reassuring smile. “I am,” Harry answered. He studied the other, and was much relieved by what he saw. It seemed that Draco had recovered much more quickly from the curse than Harry had. That had to be a good thing, right?

~That has to be a good thing, no,~ Tom hissed. ~I’ve seen such a swift recovery before in some of my older Death Eaters. That he can recover so swiftly from it means that he’s experienced it a number of times before! When my other self finds out about this, there will be hell to pay. One does not torture the generation that will lead behind us, after all. Those were always my tenets, and I cannot imagine that they will have changed in the time spent incorporeal.~

Harry flinched at the frosty anger in Tom’s voice, unable to control himself. He knew that the anger wasn’t directed at him, but that didn’t make it easy to ignore it. Especially not when he could almost feel it burning along his skin. He brought his expression back under control with some effort, but not before Draco spotted it.

“Is...” Draco lowered his voice, glanced around the room, then whispered, “Is it-”

“Shh!” Harry hissed. “Not here,” he said in a more normal voice. Who knew if Dumbledore was listening to them? It wasn’t worth the risk when Harry couldn’t be certain that they weren’t being overheard. He didn’t have his wand handy, and it wasn’t like he could cast privacy wards.

Draco clearly got what he’d meant because the blond flushed. “Sorry,” he whispered, glancing down at his hands.

“It’s fine,” Harry murmured. “Do you know how long we’ve been in the hospital wing?”

Draco shook his head. “I only just woke up a few moments ago myself,” the blonde whispered. “So I don’t have any idea. Its probably been about two days, though, or thereabouts. Your hands are still shaking with the aftereffects. So are mine,” he added, and raised one trembling hand to show Harry. “That should stop by tomorrow.”

“Draco...” Harry started, then trailed off awkwardly. How did one go about asking how one’s best friend was so familiar with the effects of one of the Unforgivables? It wasn’t exactly something that Tom’s etiquette lessons had ever prepared him for.

He never got the chance to ask, unfortunately. Or maybe it was fortunate, considering that he couldn’t quite figure out how to ask the question. “Ahh, my dear boys, I see that the two of you are awake!” The Headmaster entered the room, offered both Harry and Draco a genial smile, and settled down in the rather uncomfortable in appearance chair between their beds.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Harry said with a nod of his head. He was very careful not to make any sort of eye contact with the Legilimens. The last thing he needed to do was give Tom away by a slip of his eye. He only hoped that Draco knew to do the same.

“Now, my dear children, I’m hoping that you can help me out with something,” the Headmaster began. He was stroking his beard in a way that he probably thought looked grandfatherly and thoughtful at the same time. Harry thought that he probably had no idea how much he resembled a villain from a children’s cartoon with that particular gesture. Or how similar the repetitive, thoughtless gesture was to Voldemort’s tapping of his wand against his lips from the night before.

“Whatever you need, Headmaster,” Draco said diffidently. Harry was pleased to see that he was keeping his head down and his eyes averted. If Draco didn’t know about the Headmaster’s talents, he was certainly managing to take his cue from Harry.

“What exactly were the two of you doing on the third floor? Because where you were found, children, it was quite frankly a minor miracle that the two of you weren’t killed!” the Headmaster exclaimed, a hint of distress in his voice.

~Harry, I need you to look up for me. I know that you don’t want to, but meet his eyes. I promise, I’ll take care of it,~ Tom murmured gently.

Harry rather cynically imagined that the Headmaster didn’t even have to fake his distress; after all, he’d managed to lose the Sorcerer’s Stone. That had to smart. He also really hoped that Tom knew what he was doing as he looked up and met the Headmaster’s gaze full on.

He could feel the man’s touch against his mind, oily and cold and altogether very uncomfortable. But he could also feel that it wasn’t getting in past his shields, or rather, past the shields that were being sustained on his behalf. Harry allowed himself to relax just a bit. So long as he had Tom, the Headmaster wouldn’t be able to read his mind.

“We heard that Professor Quirrell was going to go after whatever it was on the third floor corridor, Headmaster, and we were going to go to a professor, but we didn’t think that we’d be believed! I mean, Draco and I are just two eleven year olds, who would listen to us?” Harry made certain to project a certain desperation into his voice. Desperation for the Headmaster to understand, desperation to be believed, desperation not to get caught at this, though the Headmaster wouldn’t recognize that aspect of things.

“Oh, child, of course your head of house would have listened to you even if nobody else had,” the Headmaster said mournfully. “And Professor McGonagall certainly would have listened to you in my absence. We were quite prepared for somebody to try and go after the stone, you see, which is why there were all those traps guarding it.”

“But, sir,” Harry began, and then ducked his head further as though ashamed. Dumbledore’s mental fingers in his head were becoming uncomfortable, and though it wasn’t painful, he wanted it to stop. Once eye contact was broken, it did.

“What is it, my dear boy?” Dumbledore asked.

“It’s just that those traps were so easy to get through,” Harry whispered. “The only one that gave Draco and me any trouble was the chess set, and even that would have been easy enough if we’d had Ron there.” Harry was flushing as he spoke, as though he couldn’t believe that he was daring to question the Headmaster.

Really, it was a combination of rage and frustration. The Headmaster had clearly intended for Harry to be able to get through those traps. Why else would he have even had the stone in the school in the first place?

“Oh, child, I do admit that we weren’t quite planning to have a genius of Voldemort’s caliber attacking the traps, and I’m certain that his passing through them made it easier for the two of you,” Dumbledore murmured. “Now, can you two tell me how it was that Voldemort came to get the stone? That final trap should have been impossible for him to circumvent.”

Draco burst out with, “Headmaster, it’s all my fault! He pulled us in front of the Mirror, held us at wand point, and I could see the stone falling into my pocket, and then it was there! In my pocket! And somehow he knew, and he took it from me!”

“But Draco, you weren’t found anywhere near the Mirror. In fact, you were found closer to the exit of the room. It was Harry that I found at the Mirror when we finally managed to reach you,” Dumbledore said quite reasonably.

“He put me under this terrible curse for failing him,” Harry whispered quietly. “I don’t know what happened after that.” Harry shivered in remembered pain. His hands were still shaking in reaction to the Cruciatus Curse, and he hoped that it would fade soon.

“Oh, child,” Dumbledore murmured. “And you, Draco? How did you come to be under the Cruciatus Curse?”

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. “I... he wasn’t going to hurt me, since he’d gotten what he wanted. But he was leaving, and he just left Harry under the curse, and I couldn’t... I couldn’t let him just leave my friend suffering like that, so I went after him. I know it was stupid, sir, but I drew my wand on the Dark Lord, and he laughed at me before throwing me under the curse as well. And then I blacked out, sir, and came to here in the hospital wing.”

When Harry dared to chance a look up, Dumbledore was frowning thoughtfully. “I’m very sorry that the two of you went through all of that,” the Headmaster said quietly. “But you did so well to try and stop Voldemort. Never think that you failed us in that.” He stood then, slowly, as though his aging bones were aching. Like Harry would ever believe that. The man was most likely still as spry as he’d been fifty years ago. “Although the two of you shouldn’t have been there, I’m going to award fifty points to Slytherin each for your act of bravery. That you came up against the Dark Lord and survived is a testament to both of you.”

He left the room then, and Harry and Draco both sagged with relief. ~Do you think he believed us?~ Harry asked Tom.

~Not a chance,~ Tom answered. ~But what matters the most, right now, is that he can’t prove anything. As long as he can’t prove anything, we’re safe. Because he won’t want to give up on his perfect weapon against the Dark without some sort of proof.~

~Then we’ll just have to be very careful not to give him that proof, right?~ Harry asked, even as his eyes drooped closed once more. He forced them open just long enough to check on Draco, only to see that the other had fallen back to sleep as well, and then he gave in as gracefully as he could. He could see what Tom meant about being easily exhausted, and wondered what that was going to mean for his final exams for the year. And then he wasn’t thinking of anything else at all but the inside of his eyelids.

ooOOooOOoo

Did the children think him stupid?

He hadn’t seen what had gone on in the room containing the Sorcerer’s Stone, the nature Hogwarts itself made it quite impossible to review a room’s memories, but did they really think him to be that stupid that he couldn’t figure it out?

It was painfully clear that the Malfoy heir had somehow managed to obtain the stone on purpose to give to the Dark Lord. How Harry had been involved, Dumbledore wasn’t entirely certain. Perhaps the Malfoy boy had him under the Imperius Curse? No, no, the wards around Hogwarts would sense that. It couldn’t possibly be that.

But there had to be something there. He was more than intelligent enough to realize that he was being led on a merry chase by somebody, but the question was, who? Who in the world would possibly want the Dark Lord to rise again, other than both the Dark Lord himself and his followers? Was it possible that Harry had somehow been influenced to the Darker side of magic?

But no, because there had been no wizards with enough access to Harry through his formative years that could have taught him anything of the sort. And Arabella had never reported the boy coming or going at odd hours, or anything particularly odd about the relationship the boy had with his Aunt and Uncle. In fact, there had been nothing of any concern reported until the boy had snapped and wandlessly, wordlessly, cast the Killing Curse on his Uncle.

That wasn’t so much of a surprise, Albus supposed. It wasn’t like the Dursleys hadn’t been awful to the boy, after all. Anyone, no matter how good they were, could snap with the right provocation. While the situation with his Uncle was ideal, it at least made some sense.

But then there was the Occlumency! How, how had the boy learned such a thing? The Hat had reported on it but Albus hadn’t quite believed it. Now he didn’t have a choice. The boy’s shields were perfect. His mind had slid over the boy’s like it was glass. He’d known Occlumens that had practiced for years that couldn’t manage something like that. Was he some kind of natural Occlumens? Albus had never heard of one before, but he was certainly going to be checking up on the matter.

And to make all of this worse, Severus had found nothing on the boy. The Potions Master was his head of house, surely he would have found something, somehow by now. This was ridiculous; the man was a master spy as well. It didn’t make sense that an eleven year old child could befuddle both himself and Severus.

Albus despised it when things didn’t make sense.

But he had time, oh, he had time. The boy was his for the next six years. His to shape and mold into a weapon that would destroy the Dark once and for all. And if the boy wasn’t willing to play the role he’d been assigned, well, there was always the Longbottom boy. And Hogwarts was a magical school, and could be dangerous despite all of the safeguards surrounding it.

Accidents happened all the time.

ooOOooOOoo

When Ron had first heard that Harry and Draco were in the hospital wing, he’d been rather upset. Not for the reasons one might expect, however. That it was two of his friends, one might even call them his best friends no matter what Draco said, who were in the hospital was very upsetting, but that wasn’t what really bothered Ron about the whole thing.

No, it was because they’d been out of the common room doing something while Ron had been asleep. They presumably hadn’t tried to wake him, for whatever reason, and had instead gone off on an adventure all their own. This wasn’t really acceptable. Didn’t they know that best friends were supposed to go on adventures together?

Madam Pomfrey had finally let him in to see them on Saturday afternoon, a whole three days after they’d been admitted in the first place. Ron had been by after classes each and every day that he’d been able to do so, much to Bennet’s dismay as the prefect had to constantly fetch him from outside the hospital wing when Madam Pomfrey called on him to do so. He hadn’t had any luck, but this day was different.

“Well,” the Mediwitch said with a soft sigh. “They did regain consciousness yesterday, and I suppose it would do them good to see a familiar and friendly face. I’ll let you in, but only if you promise not to disturb them! They’re sleeping right now; if they wake while you’re here you may certainly stay and visit. But if you try to wake them, child, I will have you thrown out.” She was glaring at Ron as she spoke, the tone of her voice threatening dire consequences should he disturb her patients before they woke on her own.

Ron bit down a frightened squeak. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered. He hefted his bag up by its strap and said quietly, “I brought my schoolwork so that I don’t disturb them.”

She let out a soft, “Hmmph,” and turned back into the room, holding the door open for Ron. “See to it that you don’t, Mr. Weasley.”

“Yes, Madam,” he murmured, and entered the hospital wing.

Then he saw the two of them, both deeply asleep, and he didn’t feel quite so upset that he hadn’t been invited along anymore. They looked awful. Both were too thin and too pale, and it was odd because they’d only been in the hospital wing for three days. But Ron supposed that if he’d been unconscious for two days, and still mostly asleep for the the third, he might be so thin and pale too.

He settled down in the chair between the beds, which looked terribly uncomfortable but was actually not, and tried to focus on his schoolwork as both Harry and Draco were still out.

But he couldn’t focus. He kept thinking about how they’d gone on an adventure without him, and they’d been hurt while doing whatever it was that they’d been doing, and he’d been jealous. What kind of a friend was he, to be jealous while his two friends were in the hospital wing? He should be ashamed of himself. This wasn’t the way he’d been raised. His parents would be ashamed of him as well.

Well, no, actually, they wouldn’t be. They didn’t want him to be friends with Draco, after all, and if that meant not being friends with Harry, well, he was pretty sure that they’d prefer it that way. He pulled the letter he’d gotten from his Mum and Dad the day after Halloween out of his bag. He’d read the several times, so many times that the ink was starting to wear in places from his fingers rubbing against it, and no matter how many times he read it the words on the page didn’t change.

_Dearest Ron,_

_We understand that you’ve been Sorted into Slytherin and that your brothers played a terrible prank on you on Halloween day. You have to understand that your father and I still love you no matter what house you’ve been Sorted into, whether it be Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or even Slytherin. Now, we are taking Ginny to visit with Charlie in Romania over the Christmas holidays, and as such we do believe that you should remain at Hogwarts over the break. We do hope that you aren’t too upset by this, but Christmas at Hogwarts is wonderful and we think you’ll enjoy it more than seeing the Dragon Preserve yet again._

_On a more troubling note, son, we’ve heard some disturbing reports from your brothers, Ron. They say that you’ve been spotted in the company of the Malfoy scion. This, son, is unacceptable. The Weasleys have been embroiled in a blood feud with their family for centuries; you will not be the one to change that. You are to break ties with the Malfoy brat and any of his friends by the end of the school year, or there will be repercussions._

_Your father and I love you very much, but we cannot have you consorting with Malfoys._

_Love, Mum and Dad_

Ron folded the letter back up with trembling hands. His parents had written him two more letters, both urging him to break off his blossoming friendship with Draco and do his best to turn the Boy Who Lived away from his friendship with Draco since it would _bring nothing but ruin to the good name of the Potters, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we Ron?_ as one letter stated. But the more time that Ron spent with both Harry and Draco, the less he found himself wanting to do just that.

There was something moving between the two of them, something electric. Something that promised Great Things were coming. And Ron wanted to be a part of that. He wanted to be a part of that so very badly. He was only eleven, but he wasn’t an idiot. He could see when something big was coming, and that something big was coming with Harry and Draco.

And if he could only be on the sidelines of that, well, so be it. Better to be on the sidelines than on the opposite team. He just hoped that he could make his parents understand why he couldn’t, he just couldn’t give up his friendship or do anything to drive a wedge between Draco and Harry. For one thing, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to manage it anyway. For another, it just felt wrong. And Ron hadn’t been raised to do things that felt so wrong as that.

“Weasley?” came Draco’s voice, hoarse with sleep. “You alright?”

“Fine, Draco,” Ron answered automatically. The letter was immediately stashed back in his bag, and he offered Draco a reassuring smile. “You guys are missing a lot of class just before finals, you know,” he pointed out.

Draco snorted. “Please, Weasley, like I haven’t been ready for finals since Christmas break,” he said with a dry little laugh that devolved into a bit of coughing.

“I’ve been ready since Easter,” Harry offered from Ron’s other side. “Has Binns livened up any since we’ve been out? You know, since finals are coming up?”

Ron laughed quietly. “Ahh, no such luck guys. We’ve all been dozing through his class, and Theo’s taken to holding up these ridiculous drawings while Binns has his back turned,” he said through his laughter.

“Just so long as he doesn’t do anything like that in Professor Snape’s class,” Harry said. He yawned, then, and looked around sleepily. “Think you could get me a glass of water? Madam Pomfrey left a pitcher and some glasses on the table in the corner for us.”

“No problem,” Ron said easily, and got Harry the drink. “Want one, Draco?”

Draco heaved a sigh. “Since you’re up anyway, that would be lovely Ron.”

Ron made absolutely certain that there wasn’t a smile on his face when he turned back around to give Draco and Harry their drinks. Draco certainly wouldn’t appreciate it. How could his parents expect him to break this friendship off? Being friends with a Malfoy and a Potter, it could get him places. And Ron was absolutely determined to go somewhere with his life. To do big things.

And it looked like maybe he’d finally gotten through to Draco, which meant that he was one step closer to greatness.

ooOOooOOoo

Classes were done, the Leaving Feast was finished, Slytherin had won the House Cup quite handily, and the train ride home had begun. Harry was still exhausted, had been since he’d gotten out of the hospital wing a week ago just as Tom had warned him he would be. Finals had been an absolute nightmare. He was leaning against the window, still half asleep since the train left so early in the morning on the last day at the castle. Draco was all the way out. Of the three of them, only Ron was entirely awake, and was thoroughly engaged in a chess match against his own pieces. Harry wasn’t sure if it was really entertaining or if he was just that sleepy, but it was captivating to watch.

~You’ll be exhausted for a while yet,~ Tom murmured in Harry’s head. ~The Cruciatus Curse takes a lot out of a fully grown adult wizard; I’m not surprised that it’s hitting you so hard.~ He paused, then said, ~We’ve discussed it before, but the fact that Draco seems to be more recovered than you is very troubling. It means that we’re right; he’s been subject to the curse many times before. And yes, watching Weasley play chess against himself is fairly entertaining.~

~I want to kill Lucius Malfoy,~ Harry thought. ~I want to kill him so hard that he comes back and we do it again.~

Harry’s sleepy, barely awake sentiment made Tom let out a startled bark of laughter. ~Really, Harry?~ Tom asked through his chuckles. ~But you were so averse to me killing dear Uncle Vernon.~

~Yes, but Uncle Vernon was only hurting me,~ Harry countered. ~Lucius Malfoy is hurting one of my best friends. I’d want to kill the Weasleys, too, if they were torturing Ron over breaks.~

Now Tom truly dissolved into hysterics. ~Oh, oh Harry!~ he managed, and then burst into slightly insane laughter once more.

~Did I say something that entertaining?~ Harry asked once Tom had settled down a bit, which only had the effect of sending Tom back into gales of laughter once more. ~Okay, seriously, are you done now? What the hell is wrong with you?~ Harry snapped, starting to get annoyed.

And a little frightened, because he could feel Tom’s amusement bleeding through him, making him want to laugh as well. He didn’t want to feel Tom’s amusement. That meant that they were getting closer to merging, and Harry didn’t want to lose Tom. He adored Tom; he needed Tom. That he might lose him was... well, it was terrifying. Harry couldn’t deal with the thought of losing Tom, not right now. Not when he had Draco to worry about, and the resurrected Dark Lord that he’d managed to intrigue.

Tom was calming down now, and as he did, Harry relaxed even further against the window. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open with the soothing, rocking motion of the train. ~It’s just the image of Molly and Arthur Weasley, who you’ve never seen before, torturing anybody. Such a thing would be anathema to them. Trust me, your friend Ron is perfectly safe in their care, no matter how angry they are with him for befriending a Malfoy.~

~Do you think they’ll be angry with him?~ And then, a thought occurred to him, and Harry asked in a slightly more panicked tone, ~Do you think that we’ve made things worse for Draco by helping Ron to make friends with him?~

~I don’t know that there’s anything that could have made things worse for Draco,~ Tom said thoughtfully. And not in a way that was the least bit reassuring, in Harry’s opinion. ~And as for the Weasleys being angry with Ron, well, do keep in mind there’s a blood feud there. I’ve no doubt that they’ll be furious. But I cannot see them ever raising a hand to their son in anger.~

Harry allowed himself to relax entirely against the window at the news. ~That’s nice,~ he whispered, and then the next thing he knew he was being gently shaken by Ron. “What?” he asked sleepily.

“Both of you slept pretty much the entire ride,” Ron said. He’d already changed from the fine clothes that Draco had gifted him into a set of his more worn ones that had come from his parents. His face was flushed, as though embarrassed, so Harry didn’t say anything. “We’re about twenty minutes out from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. You two should probably be taking off your robes for the station.”

Harry yawned. “Thanks, Ron,” he mumbled through it. He took off his robes and folded them neatly inside his trunk. Minerva yowled at being disturbed, but settled down when Harry picked her up again.

Draco woke at the sound of Minerva’s yowling and looked around rather blankly. “Are we already almost there?” he asked, one eyebrow raising at the sight of Ron’s clothing. But he said nothing, and there was absolutely no indication that he’d been asleep only moments ago.

“Ron says about twenty minutes,” Harry answered. He envied Draco’s ability to wake up instantaneously. ~We should work on that,~ he said internally to Tom.

~Well, if you’re really asking me to start waking you up at random times during the night until you can wake instantly, sure, we can do that,~ Tom said with a projected feeling of nonchalance.

Harry narrowed his eyes after several minutes of consideration. ~I’m sorry, are you offering to torture me to teach me to wake me up easily?~ It had taken him entirely too long to catch on to that. He should be ashamed.

~Well, it seemed to be what you were wanting me to do,~ Tom said cheerfully. ~And I am sort of going through withdrawal.~

And then, before he think of a proper response to that scintillating offer, the train was pulling into the station. Ron hesitated, then said quietly, “I think I’d better go out first. Only I don’t want my Mum and Dad to make a scene if we run into your father, Draco.” His face was lightly flushed in embarrassment and he was staring down at his shoelaces.

Draco nodded his head regally. “I understand, Ron. I wouldn’t want my father to attack your parents should he catch sight of me with one of their children.”

“Owl me over the summer?” Ron suggested, and there was just a bit of odd desperation in his voice that made Harry’s eyes narrow.

“Of course,” Draco answered. “I’ll be sure to owl both of you. Valiance could use the workout.” Draco’s owl, a beautiful snowy bird with bright eyes, squawked at the sentence, and all three boys laughed a little.

“See you in the fall, then,” Harry offered, not quite wanting to leave their side but knowing that he probably should. Since both of them seemed rather reluctant to move, Harry finally took it upon himself to grab his trunk and leave the compartment, and eventually he heard them both doing the same.

He hopped down from the train then, without looking around at the families reuniting around him, headed back towards the Muggle side of things. His Aunt wouldn’t dream of crossing into the wizarding area; she’d have fits at the very idea.

There was just one problem. She wasn’t there.

Harry settled in on one of the benches to wait, and wait he did while he read through his beginner’s healing text once more, but she never showed up. He made it through the last half of the book for the second time, and still she didn’t show. ~Tom?~ Harry asked, wanting the spirit’s opinion.

~I don’t think she’s coming, Harry,~ Tom murmured.

~Then perhaps we should go check the house?~ Harry suggested.

~It isn’t a bad idea,~ Tom said. ~Although I doubt that we’ll find much of anything when we get there. If she wanted to make a clean break she’ll have moved away.

He stood, then, and took his trunk out of the station, where he hailed a taxi. He and Tom climbed into the backseat of the car, and the drive passed in a rather tense silence. Harry had no idea what he’d do if he couldn’t find his Aunt. He was too young to exist on his own in the Muggle world, and the Headmaster wouldn’t allow him to do so in the wizarding one.

It didn’t take long for the taxi to take them out to Number Four, Privet Drive, and Harry asked the driver to wait while he ran up the walk. He tapped on the door, and an unfamiliar man answered. “Can I help you?” the man asked, looking confused.

“I’m sorry, but could you tell me what happened to Petunia Dursley?” Harry asked.

The man shrugged. “Moved away over Christmas. She didn’t leave a forwarding address, sorry,” he added, not sounding particularly so.

“Okay, thanks,” Harry said. He walked more slowly back down the walk, and when he settled into the backseat of the taxi once more, he said quietly, “Charing Cross road, please.”

The cabbie looked at him like he was crazy, since they’d just come out from London, but Harry simply smiled at him. The man rolled his eyes, but threw the car into drive once more with a snarky little, “Whatever you say, sir.”

~So, she’s abandoned us,~ Harry said thoughtfully.

~We’ll take a room at the Leaky Cauldron, then, and figure out where to go from there,~ Tom murmured. ~This isn’t the end of the world.~

~No, it’s far from it,~ Harry said agreeably. So, this would be his first ever Dursley free summer. Maybe he’d use the time to take a proper holiday, after he got a full accounting of his vaults that was to say. He just hoped that he didn’t somehow get into trouble over this.


	12. Chapter Eleven

The room that Harry obtained from Tom the barkeep was somewhat plain, but Harry thought it looked like paradise. All it had taken to get the room was a few crocodile tears, a story about a cousin needing emergency surgery, and a promise that his Aunt would be by to pick him up just as soon as she could, and Tom had nodded along and given him the room with no fuss. Tom (the one in his head, not the bartender) had protested that he didn’t think a story was necessary as nobody would question the Boy Who Lived, but Harry didn’t want to start throwing his weight around like that. He didn’t want people to think of him as a bully.

Harry was tired enough that the bed, plain and covered in somewhat shabby looking brown sheets, looked perfect. All he wanted to do was crawl into it, but first he had to feed Minerva and set up her litter box in a corner. He didn’t want to; he was so tired.

~You can’t let your cat suffer because you’re out of energy,~ Tom said coolly. ~And we need to figure out our next step.~ He sounded angry, but Harry was too tired to fret about it.

Harry resentfully put Minerva’s litter box down and filled her bowl with water and cat food for her. He didn’t need to use any of the above while he was at Hogwarts, but he’d purchased them for use at the Dursley residence. They’d gotten good use in the month before he went to Hogwarts, and even if he wasn’t staying at Number Four anymore, they’d still get good use. But it was just a shame that it seemed like he wouldn’t be staying with his Aunt this summer, wasn’t it? After all, she’d so loved the thought of Harry having a cat in the first place.

This room, now that the cat was fed and Harry was using the bathroom located through a discreet door on one side of the room, was even more perfect. There was a bath that Harry could probably soak in for hours, especially considering that at the Dursleys he’d rarely felt comfortable enough to use theirs. Even if Tom had frightened them into submission for the most part, Harry didn’t like to be naked for extended periods of time when they were about. It just seemed like inviting bad luck. But this bath alone... Harry thought that he could stay there all summer just to play in the bathtub. Of course, he was too tired to do much of anything that particular night, but there would always be the next. And the one after that.

~Harry, you can’t spend the entire summer here,~ Tom said somewhat impatiently. ~The proprietor will grow suspicious the longer we stay. We should consider our next move before Dumbledore realizes we haven’t returned to Number Four.~

Harry fought down a yawn and said, ~Tom, I don’t really think that I’m much up to planning anything at all,~ then collapsed, still dressed, on the bed.

~Oh, come now child, you could at least change into your pajamas. Your trunk is right there!~ Tom exclaimed, exasperated with him.

Harry snarled out a vicious, ~Tom!~ catching the Dark Lord’s attention. ~I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I think I’m still out of it from that bloody curse your other self saw fit to cast upon me. So I’m going to sleep, right here, in my clothing if I bloody well want to. And you’re going to let me. And in the morning, we’ll discuss what I’m going to do for the rest of the bloody summer.~

Tom fell silent within his mind, and Harry gratefully drifted off to sleep.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry woke up in the morning, somewhat uncertain as to where he was. The bed was sinfully comfortable, and yet not his bed at Hogwarts. His bed at Number Four was nowhere near this comfortable, seeing as the Dursleys had been reluctant to even give him a bed from the start. He was pretty sure he’d never had a new mattress there. Where in the world had he wound up?

~The Leaky Cauldron?~ Tom prompted. ~Your dear Aunt Petunia never showed up at the train station, and she’d moved from her house when we went to go and see if she was still there. Ringing any bells?~ he asked rather unnecessarily snarkily in Harry’s opinion.

Harry let out a small growl. ~I remember now; there’s no need to so testy,~ he chided. He sat up, ran a hand through his hair which of course only served to make it that much more messy, and put on his glasses. Now that he was more awake, the room at the Leaky Cauldron was much less appealing as a way to spend his summer. There were too many people that knew who he was; it would draw Dumbledore’s attention down on him pretty much immediately.

~Finally seeing logic, are we?~ Tom snarked, and Harry wished for the millionth time that there was a way to throw pillows at the snarky git that lived in his head.

“I was tired,” Harry said aloud. “I was tired, and I wasn’t anywhere near rational, and you were deliberately keeping me from falling asleep. You cannot expect me to be logical under those circumstances.”

~Point to you, I suppose. How dare I expect an eleven year old to be logical in times of potential duress,~ Tom mocked.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be twelve in a month, you know,” and realized how very childish it made him sound the moment he’d said it. It didn’t help that Tom started cackling madly in his mind. “Oh, shut it,” he grumbled. “I need food.”

~There’s a menu by the side of the bed. You can tap it with your wand and have food sent up, for a small fee of course,~ Tom provided. ~Or, at least, you could when I was still among the living. Or so I heard from my less than affluent followers.~

Harry brightened. “I’ve never had room service before,” he said cheerfully, and found the menu in question. Sure enough, the instructions read just as Tom had said, and Harry gleefully tapped his wand against eggs, bacon, a fruit plate, and toast. He was starving.

~Couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you didn’t eat dinner last night, could it?~ There was a moment, then, quietly, ~And you didn’t eat lunch, either. You can’t be skipping meals like that, not while your core is still recovering from the Cruciatus Curse. Your magic needs fuel to recover, and you’re far too skinny as it is. Not eating will take away what little body fat you have.~

Harry’s food arrived rather swiftly, sparing Harry the need to respond to Tom’s lecture, and he made sure to tip the woman who was likely the Innkeeper’s wife very well. A good tip now might ensure fast service the next time he needed food.

He fell into the food, and while he swallowed some eggs he asked, ~Does the Cruciatus Curse really do that much damage in the few minutes that we were under it?~ He was morbidly curious regarding the topic. Also, if he was going to be affiliating himself with Voldemort in any way, he should probably know the side-effects of the Dark Lord’s favorite punishment.

~The Cruciatus Curse hurts so very much because it attacks on two levels. The first level is the nervous system. Too much exposure to the Cruciatus Curse at any age can lead to permanent nervous damage, such as a constant tremor and difficulty speaking. The second level that it attacks is the magical core. Exposure to the Cruciatus Curse can lead to a warped magical core, which will invariably lead to insanity. Even moments of exposure can do damage, which is why you’re still so tired and hungry.~

Harry shivered. ~And you regularly used this spell to torture your followers? Isn’t that counter-productive? I would think you’d want them sane and magically powerful.~

~I didn’t use it regularly,~ Tom protested. ~Just when they failed me in something I couldn’t forgive them for.~ He stopped, then, and Harry felt a slight twinge of guilt coming from the Dark Lord. ~Perhaps I used the spell on them more often than I should have, in those last days.~ Then Harry could practically feel the Dark Lord shaking off his guilt and Tom said insistently, ~Now, eat. And then we’ll figure out what on Earth we’re going to do with ourselves over the summer.~

Harry opened his mouth to respond, only for Tom to snarl, ~Eat, Merlin take you!~ and so Harry began to concentrate solely on his food. It was delicious, anyway, and probably deserved his entire concentration.

ooOOooOOoo

After food, and another short nap that Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself from taking, Harry settled into a meditative position on the bed, closed his eyes, and took a step back into his mind. He followed the somewhat familiar path to Tom’s mental office, then asked the Dark Lord, “So, what do you think we should do with the rest of the summer?”

Tom, for once, was not at his desk. He was instead settled on his very comfortable couch, on his back, hands threaded together under his head. He yawned and said, “I don’t really know.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You were so desperate to talk about this last night, and now you tell me that you don’t actually have any idea about what we should be doing over the summer?” he asked, just for clarification’s sake.

“I sort of like your idea of going on a holiday. A proper one, that is. I’ve been around for a very long time, but I don’t know that I’ve ever had an actual vacation where I could go and do what I want. I don’t want that for you and I fear the time is coming when that won’t be an option.” Tom closed his eyes and shrugged, awkwardly since he wasn’t moving from his position.

Harry settled on the floor, his back resting against the front of the couch, and leaned his head back so that it brushed Tom’s side. “But where would I go on vacation?” he asked, uncertain.

“The ocean. India. Japan. France. There are so many different places to go, Harry, and life is so very short. You could go anywhere. Do anything.” Tom sat up, suddenly, dislodging Harry’s head. Harry blinked, and the Dark Lord was kneeling before him, a bright and suddenly eager expression on his face. “I’ve got it; we could visit other schools! You could transfer out of Hogwarts, stay out of England until this whole war nonsense dies down a bit. My other self has his body back, we don’t really need to be here for anything else, right?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Tom’s own red eyes were so bright, so hopeful. It didn’t fit the Dark Lord at all. “What do you know that you aren’t telling me?” Harry asked warily.

“What do you mean?” Tom smiled at him, innocent and unassuming. It looked like a smile on a shark; it didn’t fit the man at all.

And Harry didn’t buy it for a minute. “You want me to get out of England. There must be a reason; all I’m asking is why you want me to get out of England so suddenly, that’s all,” Harry said reasonably.

“I just...” Tom shook his head and settled back to sit on the floor himself. “Harry, you’re so young. And you’re so perfectly placed to be used against the Headmaster. I just don’t want you to be getting into this mess over your head, that’s all. And I think that if you stay in England, eventually my other self is going to come looking for you to join his side.”

“I thought that’s what we wanted,” Harry pointed out.

“That is what we want! We just... maybe we should wait until you’re a bit older before going after it?” Tom asked rather weakly.

Harry closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the couch once more, and considered what Tom was saying. After a few moments of silence Harry finally said softly, “Do you really think that either the other you or Dumbledore will really be willing to let me go?” He opened his eyes, then, and lifted his head to stare into Tom’s.

Tom visibly deflated. “No,” he said, rather dully. “No, I don’t think they will. It’s just that... Harry, you deserve a chance to be a child. To... to laugh and play and yes, join the Quidditch team, and go on terrible dates, and all that other childish stuff that I never really had a chance to do. And if you stick around here...” Tom shook his head.

“If I stick around here?” Harry prompted. When Tom didn’t answer, Harry let out a soft sigh. “Tom, I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but I’m living with a sixty-some year old spirit inside my head. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to ‘laugh and play’ like a normal child would. You’d be bored stiff.”

Tom exploded into motion, then, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth across the length of the room. “It shouldn’t be about me! You don’t understand and I don’t know how to make you!” he ground out. “I’m... I’m a parasite, attached to your mind. You understand this, don’t you? I make things so very dangerous for you! You could be killed for having me in your mind!”

Harry stood, stepped into Tom’s path, and said rather calmly, “I think we’ve got more of a symbiotic relationship than a parasitic one, personally.”

Tom froze. “Harry,” he started, voice shaky.

Harry cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. “I don’t know where this is coming from, Tom, but I do know this. You’ve done so much for me in the past few years. Yes, this isn’t the way my life probably would have gone had you not been here. But who can say it’s more dangerous this way? Not I, for certain. I probably would have wound up in Gryffindor. Your other self would have most likely been trying to kill me as Quirrell, and who knows, maybe I would have gone up against him to protect the Stone. Maybe I would have died in my first year. Maybe my Uncle would have snapped and killed me before I could even make it to my first year. We’ll never know. But you’re here with me, now, and I’m grateful for that.”

Tom deflated entirely, sagging to his knees with such an expression of defeat on his face that Harry’s heart almost burst. “You... you really mean that,” the once-Dark Lord said rather dully, as though he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it.

“Of course I do.” Harry patted him on the shoulder, would have hugged him if he’d thought for a minute the spirit would tolerate it, then backed off a few steps. “I figure that I’ll go and talk to the goblins about my accounts, and then maybe we’ll plan out a nice holiday. You need a break, apparently. You’re getting quite unstable in your old age,” he said with a quirk of his lips.

Tom looked up with the beginnings of a smile on his face. Harry returned it, then fled back to the real world before Tom could be too embarrassed.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was already almost to Gringotts when Tom finally spoke up again. ~You don’t quite understand, Harry,~ Tom said.

~Oh?~ Harry asked, one eyebrow raising before he regained complete control of his expression. ~Please, Tom, explain it to me then,~ Harry invited.

~I think you’re right. As my emotions start to have more of an effect on you, I believe that yours will start to do the same to me. That I’m destabilizing is... well, it isn’t exactly what I would consider to be a good sign. It could mean that our merging is speeding up.~

~Well slow it down!~ Harry snapped, and then felt guilty. This wasn’t Tom’s fault, after all. ~I don’t... I mean...~ Harry’s steps faltered, and he drew to a halt just outside the bank. ~I don’t want to lose you, Tom,~ he finally said, his voice small.

~I know, Harry,~ Tom murmured. ~And I don’t know when you will. But I think that when you finally do, we’ll both be more prepared for it to happen. We’ll just have to wait and see.~ Harry felt that ghostly sensation of Tom hugging him once more, and savored it for the entire minute that it lasted. ~Now, go into the bank, and speak to your Account Manager. You’re attracting more attention than we can afford just by standing around out here.~

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped into the bank. There was a long line at the teller’s desk, but Harry stepped into it and waited quite patiently until he was called to the next available teller. It didn’t take all that long, considering there had been about ten wizards and witches ahead of him.

When he reached the front of the line he presented his key, which Hagrid had turned over to him after they’d visited his vault in the first place, and said politely, “I was wondering if there was any way that I could get a statement of my holdings?”

The teller stared at him blankly for a moment, then took the key and studied it. “One moment,” he said. He hopped down from his stool and walked off rather speedily for a being with such short legs, leaving Harry to stand and wait. It was only a matter of moments before the goblin returned and said flatly, “Mr. Potter, Ragnok will see you.”

His key was returned to him, and when Harry turned, there was another goblin waiting to lead him to wherever it was he was meant to go. ~Who’s Ragnok?~ he asked Tom as they walked.

He could almost feel Tom’s shrug. ~Your Account Manager, maybe? I’m not certain. The name seems to ring a bell, anyway.~

Harry let out an almost soundless huff of air. ~Some help you are,~ he sent to Tom, but made sure that his amusement bled into his voice. And then they were at the start of a long, dark hallway lit only by torches, and the goblin led him down to the very end of it, to an office with an open door. “Thank you,” Harry offered, and the goblin simply bowed in response before turning and stalking off. Harry stepped hesitantly into the room and said, “Mr. Ragnok?” curiously.

“Do sit down, Mr. Potter,” was the immediate response. “You wished for an accounting of your vaults, after all, and that could take some time.” The goblin in question was an older one, with sharp eyes and a sharper smile.

The goblin’s desk was covered in papers and Harry, feeling quite guilty for interrupting this goblin’s obviously busy day, said, “I was actually just looking for a paper statement? You know, like Muggle banks give out. I certainly don’t want to interrupt your work.”

Ragnok chuckled. “How refreshing to deal with one so naive in our ways, Mr. Potter. Please, sit,” the goblin invited once more.

Harry did so, knowing it would be rude to do anything but. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and ducked his head shyly.

“Now, as to interrupting my work, child, you may not understand this, but the Potter accounts are a little over one third of my total work. I am the Accounting Manager for the Potter family, the Black family, and the Malfoy family; three of the oldest lines in wizarding history. With the Black family fortune frozen due to the unfortunate business of the Lord being imprisoned, your family’s accounts amount to just above one half of my current workload. Trust me, Mr. Potter, I have nothing but time for you.”

By the time he finished speaking, the goblin was smiling a very vicious smile indeed, his pointy little teeth gleaming in the torchlight. Harry was a little awed, a little respectful, and a lot frightened. Just what had he gotten into, coming for an accounting of his vaults?

~Don’t worry, Harry, I’ll be here to talk you through it all,~ Tom murmured. ~Although, I confess, I always used Narcissa to manage my own finances,~ he added, just as Harry started to relax.

~Bloody hell, Tom,~ Harry complained, and then his attention was taken up by numbers and accounts and a whole lot of information he couldn’t begin to process.

ooOOooOOoo

By the time Harry left Gringotts, his head was spinning. There were so many numbers and rules and regulations and laws and... just way too much information running through his mind.

He stopped at Flourish and Blotts to pick up a few books on wizarding finances, and grabbed a few more beginner’s healing texts as well as a few potions quarterlies and a fascinating book on the history of Light and Dark magic for light reading while he was in there, and then headed back to The Leaky Cauldron.

Once they were alone, Harry said to Tom, “So I guess we can go on that holiday, right?”

Tom laughed, and if the sound had a slightly hysterical edge to it, well, Harry wouldn’t tell anybody. ~Yes, Harry, I think we can go on that holiday. Do you think you’d like to single-handedly fund the Dark side of the war, by the way?~

Harry laughed aloud. ~You heard Ragnok; my family money is only a third of the work that he does. You should be asking the Malfoy family the very same question!~

~Oh, Lucius already funds the vast majority of the expenditures for the Death Eaters,~ Tom said cheerfully.

~Out of curiosity,~ Harry began, as the thought occurred to him, ~Just what sorts of expenses does an illegal army of Dark terrorists incur, anyway? It isn’t as though you go about building bombs and nuclear weapons and the like, right?~

~Ahh, no, but we do use potions. So very many potions. And experimental magic isn’t without its expenses, you know. Why, in the last war the Death Eaters gave enough money to St. Mungo’s to practically fund an entire new ward.~

Harry laughed quietly, having never thought of that. ~So would you have it named the Death Eater Ward, or the Voldemort Ward? Or maybe, the Riddle Ward?~

Harry could almost feel Tom wrinkling his nose. ~I wouldn’t have named it any of the above,~ he said haughtily. ~I was thinking maybe the Ward of the New Order, or something along those lines. A bit pretentious, no?~

Harry couldn’t help the snort that emerged from his lips at that. ~About as pretentious as Death Eaters,~ Harry said, manfully choking down the rest of the laughter that was trying to escape. And then he sobered. ~But onto a slightly more serious topic, what should we do with ourselves for this summer? That doesn’t involve running away from the entire war, that is.~

Just as Tom was about to respond, there was a low chime that sounded throughout the room. A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. “An owl for you, Mr. Potter,” Tom the barkeep said with a short, sharp bow. There was an entirely unremarkable brown owl seated on the crook of his arm, staring right at Harry.

“Thank you, Tom,” Harry said sincerely, and made sure to tip the man a sickle for his trouble. It wasn’t as though he was hurting for money, after all. And good tips ensured good service. Tom had made absolutely certain that was drilled into Harry’s mind long before he’d arrived at the Leaky Cauldron only last night. Even when he was at his worst, apparently Voldemort had been a good tipper. Who knew?

~Who do you suppose is sending us a letter this early in the summer?~ Harry asked, even as he settled the owl on a perch and stared at the simple looking envelope with only his name and no return address. Minerva chirruped at the owl and sniffed at it and Harry said absently, “If she claws your eyes out it’s on you, love,” and the cat backed down.

~I’m not certain. There are, after all, so very many possibilities. My money would be either on Dumbledore or, well, myself to be honest. I would think that either Draco or Ron would have included a bit more information on the envelope than just your name.~

Harry nodded once, shortly, and opened the letter. He studied it thoughtfully. The letter itself was written on a very fine parchment, from the Malfoy family’s personal stock he’d imagined, with dark green ink that looked to have flecks of silver inside. There was surely only one person this could be from, and Harry asked that person’s spirit rather curiously, ~Is the silver real?~

Tom snorted. ~Of course it’s real. As though I would ever use anything less than the absolute best.~

~Snob,~ Harry accused fondly. And then he settled in to actually read the letter in question.

_Harry Potter,_

_By now, if what you claimed when last we met is indeed accurate, you know precisely who I am. As such, I will not bother introducing myself to you at this time. Owl-post is terribly insecure, after all. It would be a disaster were this letter to fall into the wrong hands._

_I’m sure that you can understand my reluctance to state anything damning in written form, so for now all that I shall send you is an invitation. If you are willing to accept, all you need do is be holding this letter at eleven o’clock in the morning tomorrow, and you shall be brought to see me at an undisclosed, secure location. If you are not willing to do this, then I shall be forced to assume that your assertions during our previous conversation were lies, and that you are in fact a traitor to our cause. Measures will then be taken, Mr. Potter, and I don’t think that you will approve of them._

_I hope to see you tomorrow._

And then the letter ended. Harry stared at it in disbelieving silence for only a moment before he said to Tom, ~You really were a melodramatic bastard before my six year old self got ahold of you, weren’t you?~

~Harry, my name was ‘flight from death’, and my followers were called Death Eaters. I delighted in the fact that people feared me enough to not even call me by my pseudonym.~ Tom paused for a moment, as though to let those facts sink in, then asked rather calmly, ~Do you really have to ask if I was melodramatic?~

Harry laughed, so hard that he wound up on his side, cackling madly. ~So I take it that we’re going, then?~ Harry asked.

~I don’t see where we have a choice. If we choose to blow this meeting off, he’ll never give us another chance. If we want... If you want to be on his side, Harry, this is your only option.~

Harry closed his eyes, all the laughter leaving him. It was time for a serious decision. But then, he’d already chosen his side, hadn’t he? He had allowed Voldemort to leave the chamber with the Sorcerer’s Stone. He conversed with the piece of Tom’s soul in his head. He allowed Tom to cast Dark magic through his body. Not, of course, that there was really anything much he could do to stop that. He didn’t want to stop him. Soon enough he’d be learning Dark magic of his own.

~I suppose we’re visiting the Dark Lord tomorrow, then,~ Harry said quietly. ~Which means we can’t make plans until he decides what he’s doing with us for the summer.~

Harry could feel Tom’s excitement and joy running through his mind, and Harry couldn’t stop the soft smile. Tom had done so much for him; it was nice to feel him so excited about something.

ooOOooOOoo

When Ron came down to breakfast the morning after arriving home, he knew that he was in for a talking to. Nobody was at the table but his Mum and Dad, and they were both looking fairly grim. “Eat your breakfast, Ron,” Mum said quietly.

Ron bit his lip. “I’d really rather we just get this over with,” he said politely. “I don’t know that I can eat with this hanging over my head.”

“You’re still consorting with the Malfoy boy,” Mum said, still with that even tone to her voice. “Your father and I wrote you several times about that. Did you not get the letters? Errol certainly never returned any of them to us.”

“I got them,” Ron said. “I even read them. I’ve still got the first that you sent me. I just choose to respectfully disagree with you regarding Draco.”

Mum hissed. Dad laid a soothing hand on her arm and said gently, “Ron, son, I know that you’ve got a good heart, we’ve raised you that way. But there’s no redeeming any of the Malfoys. They’re so steeped in the Dark that it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that they bled black.”

Ron shook his head once, sharply. “You don’t know him. You won’t even give him a chance,” he said quietly. “You should have seen the Christmas present he bought me. Based on that, based on the rules of Giving, he’s taking this friendship as seriously as I am, if not more so. We could finally end this blood feud, and without either of our family lines being wiped out! In this day, when pure-blooded wizards-”

“Where did you ever learn to talk about pure-blooded wizards?” Mum shrieked. “It doesn’t matter how pure one’s blood is, as though that’s even an important notion! And where did you learn the rules of Giving, anyway?”

“I’m in Slytherin,” Ron pointed out. “I’m rooming with both Draco and Blaise Zabini. Both are very traditional pure-bloods. Trust me, I’ve learned some of the rules. I made it a point to borrow Harry’s etiquette book after we were Sorted.” Of course, Harry hadn’t known he’d borrowed his etiquette book, but he didn’t think Harry would mind much if he had known. Ron had just... he wanted to not mess up this chance he’d been given. It was an opportunity that none of his brothers had, to try and make the connections that they... well, that they deserved as pure-bloods.

“You read... you read an etiquette book?” Dad asked, horrified. Ron didn’t get it; it wasn’t as though he were out there studying Dark magic or anything like that. “Oh, Ron, we never wanted that for you! You were never supposed to learn all of that pure-blooded nonsense! You should know that blood doesn’t matter to us, son, it never has. The Muggles are-”

“Are perverting our traditions?” Ron asked quietly. “Are bloodthirsty monsters that would kill us if they had a chance? Why yes, I kind of agree.” The moment he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Of course all Muggles wouldn’t want to kill them, but he’d learned a bit about Muggle wars among the Slytherins.

Bennet’s father studied them for a living, keeping an eye on them for the Ministry, and he said that they killed each other just for being a little different. Not even for being of different blood, like You-Know-Who had practiced, but just for differences in opinion. How weird was that? And every witch and wizard knew about the Salem Witch Trials, and how dangerous they’d had the potential to be. Not that they’d ever killed a real witch or wizard, but still. Of course, part of Bennet’s stories were most likely that he wanted to scare the first years, but still. They couldn’t all be made up.

“Go to your room, son,” Dad said quietly. “We’ll discuss this later, when you’re more willing to be rational.”

Ron nodded once and stood. He left the room, and when he realized once he’d closed the door to his own room that he hadn’t eaten, well, he wasn’t hungry anyway. It seemed that this was going to cause more strife with his family than he’d thought. Maybe letting the hat Sort him to Slytherin had been a very bad idea, after all.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Harry didn’t do much before Voldemort’s portkey was scheduled to activate. He supposed he could have gone out and thrown around his newfound wealth, but honestly he didn’t see the point. He’d known he’d had money before, he just hadn’t had a clue exactly how much money he’d stood to inherit. Knowing was a bit intoxicating, but he knew that he probably shouldn’t be making any big purchases until the thrill of it all died down.

The one concession he’d made to his newfound wealth was that if he got onto the Quidditch team he’d be buying himself one of the shiny new Nimbus 2001s that he’d stared longingly at in the Quality Quidditch Supplies store when Tom had insisted he go out last night and try the ice cream parlor. It had seemed an odd thing for Tom to suggest, but Harry had done it for that reason. Tom insisted that it was some sort of tradition and Harry had done so, and enjoyed himself immensely. But then, what almost-twelve-year-old didn’t like spending money on ice cream? Or broomsticks, for that matter.

~You know, you could go and get another one before the portkey activates. We’ve got time,~ Tom suggested silkily.

~Another broomstick?~ Harry asked, eyebrows raising. ~Because I was under the impression that you didn’t actually want me to play Quidditch, even if you did ever so gracefully concede to allow me to play.~

~Harry, try not to be more foolish than you can help,~ Tom sighed. ~I was speaking of ice cream.~

Harry frowned. It was ten fifty-three in the morning and the portkey was scheduled to go off at eleven o’clock. Knowing Tom the way that he did, and suspecting that Voldemort was much worse than Tom with some things considering that he hadn’t been living inside a child for so long, Harry could imagine that Voldemort would be more than punctual with the activation of the portkey. ~We do not have time!~ he objected.

~Of course we do! Just think of that tasty sundae you had yesterday, you could be having a different one today! One that’s just as tasty, even!~ Tom suggested brightly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. ~I can’t tell if you’re changing your mind about going to see Voldemort or if you just want me to vanish in a public place to make people panic,~ he said.

Tom’s immediate response of, ~The second option,~ was more than a bit suspicious.

Harry frowned. ~Are you changing your mind about going to meet with him?~ he asked. It was a bit late in the game to be changing plans like that, but if Tom was that nervous then perhaps they shouldn’t go through with it.

~No,~ Tom said. ~We can’t not go at this point. Siding against Voldemort would… turn out poorly for us, I think, in the long run. I’m just nervous, I suppose.~

~Well, stop,~ Harry said irritably. ~Your nervousness is infectious, you know. You’re making me nervous, and somehow I don’t think that showing fear in front of the Dark Lord will do me any good.~

~You’re right about that.~ There was a pause, then Tom said, ~Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go disappear in a public place? Think of the reactions you’d get if they thought you were Apparating.~

~No, Tom,~ Harry said with a small laugh.

He could almost feel Tom pouting as the ex-Dark Lord said, ~You know, you were a lot more fun when it was easier to trick you into doing ridiculous things. Such as, oh, say, Apparating onto a roof to escape your cousin?~

Harry flushed at the memory. ~You’re an ass,~ he muttered. ~Although... no, nevermind. I’d just sort of forgotten that I could Apparate. It would probably be a bad idea to do it now, though, wouldn’t it?~

~How did you…~ Tom stopped, and Harry felt him take a deep breath. ~Nevermind. Yes, Harry, it would. I know how tempting it is to go pop over and see Draco, or Ron, or one of the other Slytherins in your year, but you absolutely cannot be caught Apparating by anybody. If the curse I used on the troll was too suspicious, that would just be another nail in our coffin.~ And then, primly, Tom added, ~And Apparating is for emergencies only, Mr. Potter.~

Harry rolled his eyes. ~So you said,~ he muttered. ~But it’s okay to give the illusion of Apparating by disappearing in a public place, right?~

Tom’s silence told Harry that he’d won that argument. Not that it had really been an argument, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel smug about it.

~There’s no need to be smug,~ Tom said. ~You’re right. I was wrong. It was a horrible idea, and clearly I need to bow to your superior wisdom always, like when we’re getting killed by a troll.~

Harry was about to open his mouth, to protest that the troll thing hadn’t even been his fault, thank you very much, when there was a sudden hooking sensation just below his bellybutton and the world blurred around him.

Of course he would hate portkeys. Of course. After all, he despised Apparating with everything in him because he disliked the feeling of being fed through a straw. Who knew that some people might find that unpleasant? And Tom had assured him that Floo travel was equally unpleasant.

Arriving was the worst of it, mostly because Harry was pretty sure that it looked awful for him to land on his knees, retching miserably at the Dark Lord’s feet. All he saw was the marble floor, laced with what maybe looked like real gold, and then he was throwing up. He couldn’t stop himself. It took several minutes for him to stop heaving, and Harry was suddenly very grateful that he hadn’t given in to Tom and gone for the ice cream. That had been humiliating and messy enough as it was.

“First time with a portkey?” the Dark Lord asked, and oh thank Merlin he sounded amused instead of irritated.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Harry whispered, and didn’t move from his position on the floor. He hadn’t been given leave to move yet, and he really didn’t want to do anything to invite another bout of the Cruciatus Curse. He was mostly recovered from the last one, yes, but it was still something he never wanted to go through again.

“It’s fine. Dobby will clean it up. Dobby!” the Dark Lord barked, and there was a popping sound that Harry recognized as belonging to a house elf. He’d never seen one, he wanted to look up so badly, but sheer willpower kept his head down. He was certain that he’d have the opportunity to see many house elves before too long. “Dobby, clean up this mess. And see to it that Mr. Potter is brought some refreshments.”

“Yes, your lordship,” came the elf’s squeaky voice. Harry heard another popping sound and he presumed the elf had left the room.

There was a moment of silence, and then, “Oh, do get up, child. You look ridiculous like that. If you really are what you claim to be, and at this point I see no reason to doubt it, I won’t have you kneeling before me like some common follower.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn’t stop to argue. He was on his feet and looking the Dark Lord square in the eye within moments. To his surprise, he found himself looking at Tom, not whatever that thing on the back of Quirrell’s head had been.

Voldemort caught the surprise. “You weren’t expecting me to look so much like I’d imagine the spirit within you appears?” he guessed.

Harry flushed. “Sorry, sir,” he muttered, and looked back down and away. Then winced at the sight of his own sickness on the floor.

“Come, let’s move away from the Malfoy’s entry parlor,” Voldemort suggested. “You and I have much to discuss, child, regarding your claims.” Voldemort gestured, and at Tom’s rather unnecessary prompting, Harry followed. What, like he was going to make the Dark Lord wait?

They travelled through several winding halls, making so many turns that it could have easily gotten Harry lost had Tom not known exactly where they were going as well. Eventually Harry found himself in small, cozy room with warm brown wooden walls and plush red carpeting. There was a fireplace, currently unlit, and two very comfortable looking chairs in front of it. It was terribly informal and Harry had the vague idea from Tom that this was actually the Dark Lord’s personal sitting room within Malfoy Manor.

~That’s because it is,~ Tom said, and there was no mistaking the nostalgia in his voice. ~Severus and I shared these quarters for several years during the war. Those were the best years of my life,~ Tom confessed. ~The door to our bedroom is just over there,~ Tom added. Harry could see the door in question, set on the far side of the room in a corner.

~I’m sorry,~ Harry whispered. He didn’t know what else there was to say to that. Especially not when he could feel Tom’s grief, now, something he hadn’t been able to do before.

Voldemort cleared his throat, and Harry returned his attention to the Dark Lord. “Take a seat, Mr. Potter, and tell my other self to not distract you while you’re in my presence.”

Harry didn’t ask how he knew, simply nodded once and said simply, “I think he knows, sir.”

“Good. Now, tell me about your interactions with the piece of soul inside of you. I assume that he is conscious, that he can speak and actively perform things on your behalf?” Voldemort was watching him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for a response before he’d even finished the question. So very like Tom, and yet so very different at the same time.

“He speaks to me all the time, whether I want him to or not. He can take over my body if I take a step back, but he either can’t or won’t force me out of control. I think...” Harry stopped, wondering how to phrase this in way that didn’t alarm the Dark Lord. Eventually he settled on, “I think that I gained access to a portion of your magic when his soul joined with mine; I’m very powerful for eleven years old.”

Voldemort’s breath left him in a soft huff of displeasure. “I can’t say that I’m happy to hear that you’ve gained some of my magic. Still, better to you than into the ether, I suppose,” he murmured. “Could I talk to him? My other self, that is.”

Harry frowned, and took a step back. Tom was there and waiting, and took over Harry’s body quite eagerly. “I think you’ll find that my years as a passenger of Harry’s have changed me quite a bit. I’m not the same as I was when I was sealed inside of him,” were Tom’s first words once he’d gained control of Harry’s mouth.

Voldemort’s lips quirked into a smile. “No, I would have been very surprised to hear anything but that very thing from you.” There was a pause when they were interrupted by another pop.

Harry’s first glimpse of a house elf was rather... disappointing to say the least. They looked like nothing so much as tiny, fragile little children. Well, if children were brown and had huge eyes and huge ears and were slightly too skinny to be healthy. Harry had, quite honestly, been expecting something a little bit more fairy like.

~You’ll live,~ Tom said quietly. The house elf dropped off a tray of refreshments, but Tom didn’t take anything.

“Are you not hungry after the boy threw up the contents of his stomach?” Voldemort asked.

“I’ll leave him to eat,” Tom said quietly. “You must have wanted something from me to call me out here like this.” Harry could hear the impatience in his voice and wondered what had Tom so testy. Well, other than the fact that there was another version of him out there that would actually get to live rather than be chained to a pathetic eleven year old.

Despite his words, Tom did prepare tea the way that both he and Harry enjoyed it, and took a small sip. Harry was relieved as it meant that he wouldn’t be coming back to that awful taste in his mouth.

Voldemort frowned. Even though Harry wasn’t in control of his body, he flinched in preparation for some sort of pain. Nothing happened, however, and Voldemort was saying, “Prove to me that the child isn’t simply playing some maddening hoax on me. Tell me something about myself that only I know,” the Dark Lord commanded, rather abruptly.

Harry didn’t like the tone of voice that he used. It was haughty, it was commanding, it was a voice that promised pain and retribution should the addressee fail at their task, whatever that task may be. It was a voice that assumed failure was imminent. If he’d been out, he would have made sure that the Dark Lord knew of his offense. So it was probably a good thing that Tom was the one dealing with him now, because Tom wouldn’t get them cursed.

Tom seemed entirely unaffected by the tone of voice. “We first slept with Severus when he was only fifteen. It was far too young for us to be involved, but there you go. We also learned sectumsempra from him. Oh, and yes, we’re half-bloods.” He said the litany with a cheery little smile that Harry imagined looked rather impertinent on his face. Oh, he hoped they weren’t cursed for that.

Voldemort hissed. “Of course you would choose some of the most embarrassing facts...” He shook his head once, sharply. “Very well, then, I’m convinced. Go and let the boy eat, then.”

Once Harry was back in control of his body and sipping at tea while nibbling at the finger sandwiches the elf had provided, Voldemort asked, “Do you think that you’ll be able to visit here during the summer more than just this once? I’d like to get to know the child carrying a piece of my soul.”

Harry smiled. Well, wasn’t that convenient for him? An answer to all of his summer problems and a chance to endear himself to the Dark Lord, all in one pretty little package. “Actually, sir, if you’d like I could spend my entire summer here.” When Voldemort’s eyebrows rose in surprise, Harry continued with, “You see, sir, it’s like this. Tom, the version of you inside of me, murdered my uncle just before I went to Hogwarts. When I went to return to my Aunt’s house, she was gone and had left no forwarding address. So I have nobody to miss me the entire summer, so far as I know.”

Voldemort smiled, the same shark-like one that Harry was used to seeing on Tom. It made Harry feel a little bit more at ease around the Dark Lord, though he doubted that was the intent. “I think that we can work something out then, child,” the Dark Lord practically purred.

Harry’s smile widened. Spending the summer at Malfoy Manor? Getting to spend it with a friend for the first time in, well, ever? Oh, yeah, that could work. In the end it was a simple matter of Flooing back to the Leaky Cauldron, which was every bit as unpleasant as he’d been warned about. He told Tom that he was checking out, and then returned to Malfoy Manor immediately. Voldemort sent an elf to pack his things.

By the time Harry was shown his room, apparently right next to Draco’s in the family wing, his belongings were already there. Harry flopped down on his bed, a lovely shade of sky blue that made Harry smile, and thought about how awesome this summer had the potential to be.

Harry thought it was probably going to be the best of his life, not that it was a difficult thing to do considering what his past summers had consisted of. And then, worn out from the excitement that he hadn’t even realized he was feeling, Harry was drifting off to sleep for a nap.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry woke that evening, it was to the somewhat disturbing sight of Draco sitting there, in his room, watching him sleep. That was more than enough to startle him all the way into wakefulness and he scowled rather reproachfully at the slender blonde. “You couldn’t wait until I came to find you?” he asked, one eyebrow raising.

Draco flushed. “It didn’t occur to me how creepy this looked until you were already starting to wake up,” he said quietly. He ducked his head and looked way as he added, “And by then it was too late. You were already opening his eyes. But I wasn’t watching you sleep, honest, I was reading!” Draco held up a book on potions-making as proof that he hadn’t actually been watching Harry sleep.

~Okay, I’m sorry, but he’s just adorable,~ Tom crooned.

Harry blinked, then frowned. ~First of all, creepy tone. Seriously, I’ve never heard you coo about anything, and I don’t think that I care for it. Second of all, what do you mean when you say adorable?~

~I’ll tell you when you’re older,~ Tom said, and snickered as he did it.

Harry’s frown deepened, but he chose to simply ignore the spirit within him. If he was going to be difficult and cryptic for no reason, well, Harry didn’t have to listen to that nonsense. “So did you want something, or were you just visiting?” Harry asked Draco.

“You’re staying with us for the summer?” Draco asked. “I heard Mother and Father discussing the matter.”

“Yeah, I’m staying here for the rest of the summer. My Aunt and I had a... falling out last summer, so I’ll be here with you guys.” Harry frowned, because he’d just realized that he was pretty sure he’d never mentioned the incident with his Uncle to Draco. Maybe... maybe talking about that would get Draco to open up about what he and Tom suspected. It couldn’t hurt.

“What sort of falling out do you have with your family that makes them not want to take you in for the summer?” Draco asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

Harry shrugged. “The kind where the murderous and overprotective spirit within you casts a wandless Killing Curse on your Uncle,” he said casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal. To be honest, it really wasn’t. Harry was so far past over it that it no longer even registered with him as a bad thing for Tom to have done. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that it had been a good thing, even if he hadn’t really been ready to acknowledge it at the time.

Draco froze. “You... you... what?” he finally squeaked out.

Harry grinned at him, he couldn’t help it. “My Uncle pulled a shotgun on me when I got my Hogwarts letter. Of course what happened leading up to that is a very long, complicated story, but that’s the basic gist of it. In the end, Tom killed him for pulling the shotgun. Said that we couldn’t trust him not to try again even if we could have disarmed him. And there wasn’t really any way for me to Apparate to safety.” He shrugged and added, “Hence, the killing.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “You’re too young to know how to Apparate,” he protested.

Of all the things he could have protested about, of course he would have chosen that. Draco certainly wasn’t the type to protest the murder of a Muggle. ~Tom?~ Harry offered, and took a step back. ~Why don’t you go ahead and explain this to him?~

~If you insist, child,~ Tom grumbled. But Harry knew that he was always pleased to gain control of Harry’s body. Harry didn’t let him out all that often just to talk. So he knew that Tom would enjoy this, especially since he actually did like Draco quite a lot. “In answer to your question, child, no one is technically too young to Apparate.”

Draco had gone white, now, and he slipped from his chair and shakily down to one knee. “My Lord,” Draco whispered, and bowed his head.

“Oh, now, don’t do that,” Tom complained. He stood and knelt in front of Draco. “Seriously, kid, you’re my host body’s best friend. Don’t bow to me. Harry wouldn’t approve. He doesn’t approve. He’s yelling at me in our head.” Harry was of course doing no such thing, but that didn’t stop Tom from using it as an excuse. The truth of the matter never stopped Tom from doing exactly what was needed to get the results he wanted.

“I... yes, my Lord,” Draco whispered. He still looked half-terrified, but he settled himself back in the chair by Harry’s bed and Tom chose to settle, cross-legged, on Harry’s bed. Harry knew that the only reason that Draco wasn’t protesting was the fact that it was even more insane to argue with the Dark Lord than it was to fail him.

“You look petrified. Relax, I’m not going to curse you,” Tom said easily. “I found that once I was stuck inside a six-year-old’s mind for the entirety of his development thereafter, I mellowed quite a lot. Which is, of course, not to say that my other self, the self currently wandering your manor freely, is any less deadly than ever he was. We were. Whatever,” Tom said with a shrug and a careless wave of his hand.

Harry was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. ~Are you... are you playing the fool to make Draco feel more at ease with you?~ he asked, both amused and curious by Tom’s very obviously affected attitude.

~It’s important for later that he be comfortable with us,~ was Tom’s only response. Harry didn’t fail to notice that Tom didn’t actually deny that he was acting just to influence Draco’s emotions. “So, you asked us a question about Apparition yes?” Tom asked brightly.

“Yes, sir,” Draco whispered. He still wasn’t quite meeting Tom’s eyes, and Harry couldn’t blame him. It must be disconcerting to see your friend with a suddenly drastically different eye color. He knew that if it had been him, and Draco’s eyes had suddenly changed, Harry would have been more than a little unnerved.

“It really isn’t that difficult for the concept of developing power to be understood, I think Harry just wanted to introduce us in a situation that wasn’t necessarily life or death.” Tom was smiling as he spoke. Harry was amazed; he’d never known that Tom could be so very charismatic. But it made sense; of course he could. How else would one rise through the ranks of the pureblooded elite?

“That’s right. We met when you...” Draco took a deep breath, looked up, and met Tom’s eyes. “We met when you destroyed that troll. It really was most impressive, sir.”

“Thank you.” Tom waited for a second, then said, “If you know that spell, Mr. Malfoy, don’t try it. That was accomplished with sheer power and a desire not to annoy Harry by just throwing out a Killing Curse. The sectumsempra is not intended to be used as a troll-killing tool,” he said sternly, face now firmly set into a scowl.

“Of course not, sir,” Draco said. He shook his head quickly and added, “My godfather invented that spell, so I know exactly how it’s meant to be used. He would have killed me for trying it in the middle of Hogwarts, as well.”

“Your godfather is more wise than you may ever know,” Tom said. Harry caught a hint of his wistfulness and realized that Draco’s godfather had to be Snape. He wondered how it was that he hadn’t known that before? Oh, well, in the scheme of things he figured it probably wasn’t that important anyway.

“You were going to explain about Harry knowing how to Apparate, even though the Ministry maintains that it isn’t safe until a wizard reaches at least seventeen years of age?” Draco prompted, looking as though it took all of his nerve to do so.

“Ah, yes, that was the topic at hand, was it not? Well, I won’t bore you with my knowledge regarding the subject, and I’ll give Harry his body back just as soon as I inform you that the Ministry is mostly correct. For the vast majority of wizards it is unsafe to attempt Apparition before reaching age seventeen due to the limits of their young magical core. However, there are particular cases wherein those guidelines are not necessarily accurate. Harry is unique in that he has a rather massive magical core. His core at six was the size of most seventeen year olds. He will be, once his training is complete, the most powerful wizard of our era.” And then Tom pulled back and shoved Harry back into place, leaving the child rather shell-shocked.

~You didn’t... Tom, you didn’t mention that,~ Harry managed to stumble out.

~Oh, it must have slipped my mind,~ Tom said airily.

“He... he never told me any of that,” Harry offered weakly to Draco, in answer to the unasked question. “You would think I’d be used to him not telling me things that I should know,” he added rather thoughtfully, “since he seems to only want to tell me things when it’s convenient for him.”

“I... Dark Lords are like that, I suppose,” Draco offered. “I mean, Father mentioned several times how closely our Lord liked to keep his information. So...” Draco trailed off. “I’m sorry!” he burst out quite suddenly.

Harry’s eyes widened. “For what?”

“For... I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to look at you and know that there’s a piece of another soul inside of you. That’s... that’s very Dark magic, Harry. Not even Dark, really. I’m pretty sure it’s Black magic. Splitting a soul is a dangerous thing; I’m surprised that our Lord attempted it.” Draco was frowning and staring down at his hands which he was nervously wringing.

“Yeah, well, from what I understand, he wasn’t exactly the height of rationality towards the end of it all,” Harry said with a wicked grin. Tom protested vehemently within his mind, but Harry knew that he was right. Tom himself had told him so.

Draco’s lips quirked into a grin. “Yes, well, that isn’t our place as followers to judge,” he said, the height of propriety. He relaxed a bit; Harry could see it in the way that his hands stopped moving and his posture softened. And then the little quirking of his lips turned into a full-blown grin and he said, “Would you like to come and see the Quidditch pitch that we’ve got on the grounds? We could have a few practice matches, you and I!”

Harry wasn’t stupid. He could see that Draco wasn’t entirely comfortable talking about the fact that Harry had a piece of another’s soul inside of him, and he allowed the change in subject rather gracefully. Besides, Quidditch? Oh, yeah, he was all over that.

Despite Tom’s grumbling in his head.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus read the letter with trembling hands.

He knew of only one man that would use the dark emerald ink flecked with silver. It was a special formula created specifically for the Dark Lord. Letters on that particular Malfoy family parchment with that particular style of ink were sent only to the most loyal of his followers. Never had the precise manner of communication been imitated. After all, it wasn’t just the colors in the ink that made it special, it was the feel of the Dark Lord’s magic that saturated it that made the ink unforgeable.

 _My darling Severus_ , it read, _if you are not interested in returning to me, put this letter down at once. It will burst into flames the moment it leaves your hand. Otherwise, as soon as you are finished reading the rest of this letter, you will be brought to me. There isn’t anything else to say, really, I merely wished to give you time to make up your mind. There is only one sentence to follow this one._ There was only one sentence after that, and Severus had found himself quite unable to finish reading it.

Would his Lord, his lover, be the same as he’d always been? The possibility was there, certainly, but there was also the chance that Harry had wound up with the majority of Tom’s soul rather than just a piece of it. And Severus couldn’t bear the thought of returning to a shell of the man that had once been his reason for existence. But nor could he bear the thought of not knowing, of remaining alone for the rest of his life, for he knew that he would never move on from Tom. How could one move on from perfection?

It was decided then. He needed to know. He should... he should take a bag with him if he was going to his lover’s side... his Lord’s side once more. But as he looked around the cold, lonely hovel that was Spinner’s End, he didn’t see anything that he would need for the rest of the summer. And there was no doubt in his mind that he would be returning to Hogwarts for the school year next. He was in too valuable a position for Tom to change that, no matter how much he would want Severus safe.

And so, his hands trembling all the further at the thought of maybe being reunited with his everything, he read through the final sentence on the page, _Come home to me, my Severus,_  and felt the familiar pull of a portkey at his navel. He closed his eyes for the brief few moments of travel, and when he opened them once more it was to the feeling of familiar arms around him, holding him tightly.

“My Lord,” Severus whispered, just before his mouth was taken in a rough kiss.

This was what he’d been missing for all these years. His Lord, his lover, his everything. As Tom pulled away from him, red eyes cloudy with need, a genuine smile touched Severus’s lips for the first time in far too many years.

“Welcome home, Severus,” Tom murmured. And then he was kissing Severus again, devouring him.

They celebrated for the rest of the evening.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, readers. Here's where the child abuse tag really comes in. Also, please keep in mind that I'm not a psychologist, I've never been abused, and I've written Draco to the best of my ability. Also, Draco's opinions as expressed in this chapter are not my own.

It was Harry’s second night at Malfoy Manor when he finally saw it, and he saw red. ~Harry, don’t do anything rash,~ Tom cautioned.

~How can you... how can you ask me not to?~ Harry snarled. His wand was clenched tightly in his hand, pointed at the tall, elegant blond man currently holding his Draco under the Cruciatus curse.

~Possessive much?~ Tom asked, then he added, ~If you hex Draco’s father, he might never forgive you. You remember how angry you were for what I did to your Uncle, right?~

~That was different! Uncle Vernon never...~ Harry stopped. That wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t true. Uncle Vernon had abused him when he was younger, and to deny that was to deny that Tom had saved him from so much when he was too little to defend himself. So Harry closed his eyes, counted to ten in Latin, tried to calm down and not eviscerate Lucius on principle alone, but when he opened them he was still just as furious. ~I can’t let this continue,~ he said flatly, and stepped into Lucius Malfoy’s study.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Harry called.

Lucius turned to him, one pale eyebrow raised. “Mr. Potter. If you don’t mind, I’m rather in the middle of something,” he said with an expansive gesture towards his son.

“I see that. Stop.” Harry took another step into the room, and couldn’t help but point his wand at Lucius in a threatening manner. He could hear Tom protesting in the back of his mind dimly over the roaring of the blood in his ears. He was furious. He didn’t care what the consequences were for this act. He couldn’t stand back and let Draco be tortured like this.

“Stop?” Lucius asked, and casually cancelled the spell on his son. Draco lay there, whimpering and curled into a tiny little ball on the floor. “I’m only helping the boy, Mr. Potter. If you can’t understand that, well, you should stay out of our business.”

~Harry, you idiot, you need to let me take over. Now.~ Tom snarled. Harry could feel his panic, his irritation, making his blood sing all the more.

But Harry respectfully disagreed. ~No, actually, I need to do this myself. He should respect me for who I am, not what I carry inside of me.~

~You’re eleven! You’re not meant to be going toe to toe with a wizard like Lucius!~ Tom howled.

Harry ignored him. “Helping the boy? Really, sir? That’s the argument that you’re going with, that you’re helping him by torturing him? If that’s your definition of help, well, I’d hate to see what you think hurting him looks like.” Harry crossed the room, then, and knelt by Draco’s side. He placed a hesitant hand on Draco’s back, only for the other to flinch away from the gentle touch.

“You have no right, Mr. Potter, to judge the way that I train my son,” Lucius said. “And honestly, are you daft? Challenging a wizard of my calibre? I could eat you for breakfast and there’s not a soul that would stop me.”

Harry stood, one eyebrow raising in a deliberate mimicry of the way that Tom had once upon a time glared at his Uncle. It worked, because Lucius actually broke his gaze. “Do you know what I carry inside of me, Lucius?” he asked, voice whisper-soft.

“I’ve heard a rumor,” Lucius confessed. He wouldn’t look up, not even when Harry crossed the room and stood directly in front of him.

“And what does rumor say that I carry inside of me, Lucius?” Harry asked. He kept his voice as quiet, as patient as he could. Tom had fallen silent inside of him, his protests stilling the moment that Harry had begun using that tone. Perhaps he hadn’t realized that Harry had picked up on it, which was rather silly because Harry tried his best to learn anything Tom had to teach him.

Lucius took a slow, even breath. His eyes, however, gave him away. They darted towards Harry for just a second before they were darting away once more. “The rumor is that you carry a piece of our Lord’s soul within you.”

“Do you believe what rumor is saying about me?” Harry asked casually. As though Lucius’ answer didn’t really matter, as though this entire conversation was just a game.

“I... I don’t know. I can’t see any other reason why the Dark Lord would have a Potter here in his stronghold.” Lucius still wouldn’t look up.

His fear felt good, Harry realized. He could understand why, in the past, Tom had worked so very hard to develop a terrifying reputation. It was intoxicating, and he smiled gently at Lucius. “They are correct,” he murmured. “And Lucius, could you tell me what our Lord has always said about torturing children?”

“Our Lord has no hand in the way that I raise my son! He was dead!” Lucius snarled, face jerking up to glare at Harry. His wand came up, too, and pointed directly between Harry’s eyes.

Harry reached out and pressed one hand on said wand, forcing it down. “Don’t point that stick at me, Lucius, or I’ll snap it in two. And obviously our Lord was not dead, as he’s returned. Have you ever known any being to return from the dead? No? I hadn’t thought so.” Harry shook his head in gentle reproach. “Now that he has returned to us, don’t you think that maybe you should be following all of his edicts, rather than the ones that suit you?”

“You insolent little brat,” Lucius breathed out. His wand snapped up once more, and snapped out a vicious, “ _Crucio!_ ”

Harry jerked to one side and the spell swept harmlessly past him to impact with a vase on the wall. It shattered, and Harry lunged forward and jerked the wand from Lucius’s hand. Really, did wizards have no grip? “I did warn you,” Harry said calmly, and snapped the wand over his knee. There was a flash of power, a sense of magic and life leaving the wand, and Harry was suddenly holding a simple broken in half twig.

~Harry,~ Tom whispered, but said no more. Harry could feel his shock, his amusement, his horror, and it made him smile. It wasn’t often he managed to surprise the spirit within him.

“So, any questions?” Harry asked lightly. He turned his back on Lucius, then, and went back to Draco, who had fainted at some point after the spell had been released. He murmured a simple, “ _Mobilicorpus,_ ” and Draco’s body rose from the ground.

“Don’t think for a moment that I won’t go to our Lord with this outrage!” Lucius finally shouted.

Harry didn’t even bother to turn around as he threw over his shoulder, “I dare you to, Lucius. And then I’ll simply have to explain to him that you had tortured your son into unconsciousness for no bloody reason. We’ll see which of us he’s angry with.”

Lucius fell silent and Harry left the room with Draco’s body floating before him.

ooOOooOOoo

He took Draco to his own room, if only because he didn’t want to enter Draco’s personal space without the other boy’s permission. He settled Draco on his bed and tucked the covers in around him, and asked Tom quietly, ~Should we be summoning a Healer for him?~

~Oh, now you want my advice?~ Tom asked, snappish in his irritation.

~Tom, could we argue after you tell me if Draco needs outside help?~ Harry implored. He didn’t want to fight with Tom while Draco was potentially in some sort of physical distress.

~There isn’t really anything that can be done regarding the Cruciatus Curse rather than time and rest. Both of which he can receive in adequate measure while in our bed,~ Tom bit out. It was clear that while he was providing the advice, he wasn’t happy about doing so.

Harry let out a breath of relief. ~Thank you, Tom,~ he whispered. He sagged back into the very comfortable chair by his own bedside and let himself relax. Draco would either be okay or he wouldn’t. There wasn’t really anything he could do either way other than wait, and if there was one thing he’d learned from Tom over the years, it was that stressing over things he couldn’t control was a great lead-in to insanity.

~Harry, child, we need to talk. Now,~ Tom commanded. His voice was tense, and terse, and so very angry that it took Harry’s breath away.

The last thing that Harry wanted to do was face Tom within his mental landscape, but there was nothing for it. He had no reason to deny Tom other than his own wishes and so, with a deep breath and a moment to brace himself, Harry closed his eyes and took a step back into his mind.

Tom was waiting for him in his usual space within Harry’s mind, but now it more resembled the sitting room that Harry had met with the Dark Lord in the other night. Tom was in one of the chairs, staring moodily into the fireplace. He looked up when Harry entered, glared for only a second, and then turned his gaze back to the fire. “Have a seat,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion.

“You’ve rearranged in here,” Harry commented, trying not to feel like a child being called before a parent for a lecture. He’d done exactly the right thing with Lucius, whether Tom wanted to admit it or not. He would stand by his decision no matter how upset it made Tom.

Tom didn’t comment on the decor change. Instead, they sat before the fireplace in silence for Harry didn’t even know how long before Tom finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not even twelve years old yet,” Tom murmured. He still wouldn’t look at Harry.

“No, I’m not,” Harry agreed. There was no arguing with that, it was a simple fact. He was eleven years old, soon to be twelve. “But I couldn’t just stand back and let him torture Draco, Tom. You know that I couldn’t.”

Tom’s head dipped in a shallow nod. “You wouldn’t be you if you could,” he agreed. “But Harry, we’ve had this conversation before. I need to be able to protect you. That’s... that’s the entire reason I woke up in the first place! I’ve lived here, in your head, for so many years and you’re like... you’re very important to me. Lucius could have killed you today.”

Harry let out a soft sigh. “Tom...” he closed his eyes, considered what he wanted to say, and then finally opened them. What he came out with was a quiet, “I could feel your adrenaline in there. I could feel your shock, your horror, your fear, your amusement at what I’d done.”

“Harry?” Tom asked, finally turning to look at him. His eyes were narrowed, concerned. “What are you saying?”

“You warned me, Tom, that you were going away. That you and I were merging. That one of the signs was that I would start feeling your emotions more clearly. It’s happening, Tom. I don’t know what kind of timeline you were thinking of, but whatever it was, it’s starting.” The thought was terrifying. Harry wasn’t... he wasn’t ready for this to happen.

Tom’s breath left him in a shuddering sigh. “I know,” he confessed, and closed his eyes. “It started when we spoke with Severus, really. Did you not notice that in the mirror what you saw was both your idea of perfection and my own?”

Harry thought back to the scene from the mirror, himself and Tom and Professor Snape all together as a happy family and he realized that Tom was right. He’d had no particular attachment to Professor Snape, he still didn’t. There was no reason that Snape should have featured in his idea of a perfect family at all. “So you understand, then,” he finally murmured.

“No, Harry, I don’t understand!” Tom exploded. “You risked yourself for nothing! And do you know what you did today, Harry? You made yourself an incredibly powerful enemy! Lucius Malfoy is not a man that takes defeat lying down. He’ll come after you for this. If not now, Harry, then when you’re least expecting it. This was a mistake! You should have let me deal with him! Just what do you think-”

“You won’t always be here!” Harry shouted, interrupting Tom.

Tom froze, his red eyes widening in shock. He looked at Harry, horrified.

“You won’t always be here,” Harry repeated, softer now that Tom wasn’t shouting at him. His eyes were swimming with tears and he brushed them away impatiently. “You won’t always be here,” he said for the third time, softer, trying to make himself believe the statement. “So I need to learn how to stand on my own.”

Tom closed his eyes, bowed his head, and then suddenly he moved. He knelt in front of Harry’s chair, wrapped his arms around Harry’s slender form, buried his face in Harry’s chest. “That time isn’t yet here. I’m still here for now. You don’t have to stand on your own when dealing with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. We still have time, Harry.”

“But how much?” Harry asked, his own arms creeping around Tom’s shoulders. “How much time do we have?”

“I don’t know,” Tom whispered with a shake of his head. His shoulders were shaking, and Harry could feel a bit of dampness against his robes. Tom was crying. And just like that, Harry could feel his sorrow and he let out a choked sob as well, curling protectively around Tom.

However much time they had left, it wouldn’t be enough.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry couldn’t say how long the two of them sat like that, only that enough time passed that the sun came up in the windows of Tom’s mind. Harry wasn’t sure how accurately that reflected time, but he was pretty sure that he’d never spent so long within his own mindscape. But he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Tom, irrationally afraid that the moment he did Tom would disappear on him. He couldn’t deal with that.

“It isn’t going to happen today, child,” Tom finally said. and pulled away from Harry. “Ugh. I’m far too old to be kneeling on the floor,” he added with a little smile. It wobbled, but Harry didn’t mention it. Tom stood, then, and stretched.

“You’re a spirit in my head,” Harry said dryly. “Somehow I doubt your bones creak.” He took a deep, shuddery breath, and relaxed when he realized that the urge to cry like a pathetic little baby had passed. Thankfully. He’d done more than enough of that today already.

“You’ve never been just a spirit in anyone’s head. How would you know what it feels like?” Tom asked, playful. Harry could see it in the glint of his eyes. He, thankfully, couldn’t sense it. He didn’t know if he could take much more of sensing Tom’s emotions today. He might go mad.

“Just an educated guess,” Harry said casually. And then, quietly, “I should probably head back out to the real world. Draco might wake up and be worried when he sees me zoned out on the chair. Not to mention, I’ll probably have cramps from spending so long in said chair.”

“One moment,” Tom muttered, looking thoughtful. Harry waited, eyebrows raised, and finally Tom said, “Listen, I wasn’t kidding. Lucius is going to be gunning for you now. You’ve made a powerful enemy today. So we’re going to have to start teaching you the art of duelling, which I hadn’t wanted to do until you were much older.”

“The art of duelling?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

“There are several rules to it, and... I’m going to have you order a book. The Art of Duelling, by Filius Flitwick.” Tom was still looking considering, and finally he added, “And also The Dark Truth, which is most likely on some restricted reading list somewhere, which means that it will likely be difficult to buy. But the Malfoy family should have a copy of it somewhere. It’s a book on the ins and outs Dark magic. You need to... if you’re going to go around snapping the wands of Death Eaters, you need to be able to adequately defend yourself. And just knowing the spells isn’t quite good enough when it comes to the Dark.”

“I’ll get my hands on them,” Harry promised. He smiled at Tom, then stood up and hugged him. “Thank you,” he whispered to the surprised spirit.

“Don’t thank me,” Tom warned. “You thought I was difficult when teaching you theory? I’m going to be impossible now that we’ll actually be working with magic.” Tom paused, then said quietly, “This wasn’t what I wanted for you Harry.”

Harry grinned as he pulled back. “I know. But it is what it is,” he responded. He headed for the door of the study and said, “I’ll pick up those books.”

Just as he opened the door, Tom called after him, “That bit where you snapped Lucius’s wand was actually quite brilliant! The look on his face was priceless!”

Harry was grinning as he left his mindscape.

ooOOooOOoo

When Harry came back to the outside world, it was to the sight of Draco sitting up, watching him through exhausted, pain-filled grey eyes. His hands, slender and pale and resting against the blanket in his lap, twitched sporadically.

It made Harry cringe to see it. But he smiled and said quietly, “I’m glad to see that you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Draco let out a small, shaky sigh and asked, “How much did you see?” His voice was harsh, likely from the screaming he’d done while under the curse.

It made Harry wish that he’d killed Lucius. The bastard had it coming. “I saw that he had you under the Cruciatus curse,” Harry answered. He couldn’t see any reason to lie to Draco about that. It wouldn’t do any good anyway.

Draco bowed his head, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes. “I wish that you hadn’t seen that,” he whispered. He raised shaking hands to his face, hiding it away from Harry. “It isn’t... it isn’t so bad as all that. I mean, he’s only got access to me during the summer now.”

Unspoken went the painful fact that it hadn’t always been that way. Draco hadn’t always only been around for the summer. It made Harry’s blood boil. “He shouldn’t have access to you at all! Not if he’s just going to torture you, Draco. It isn’t... it isn’t right.”

Draco was silent for several moments following Harry’s outburst, and then, very quietly, “He’s my father, Harry,” in the most broken tone that Harry thought he’d ever heard in his life.

“What’s your point?” Harry bit out. “You can’t tell me that you love him, not with the way that he tortures you. Maybe you fear him, maybe you respect him, but you don’t love him.” He couldn’t... Harry couldn’t imagine actually loving somebody that could torture you like that. The thought was terrifying.

“You can’t tell me how I feel about my father,” Draco snarled. His lips were curled up, his expression gritty and raw and ugly when he looked up at Harry. “It isn’t as simple as hating him because he hurts me. Because yes, he hurts me. And my mother doesn’t notice or doesn’t care if she does. But they still brought me into this world. He still wants what’s best for me even if he doesn’t know how to show it. And I still want to do my best for him. I want to make him proud, Harry, even when he’s torturing me. I want to do better.” By the time he finished speaking, Draco was looking down at his hands again, watching them shake. He wouldn’t look up to meet Harry’s eyes at all.

Harry’s eyes closed against the onslaught of words. That was... ~Tell me there’s some psychological explanation for this?~ he begged Tom. The thought that Draco, sometimes kind, always vain, strong and confident Draco being reduced to this... this... it hurt Harry more than he’d ever realized something could hurt.

~Harry, I’m not... maybe Stockholm Syndrome?~ Tom suggested, then snorted at himself. ~Harry, I’ve got no idea! I certainly never cared about any of those who abused me in my youth, and I don’t believe that you did either. Despite your rather strong reaction when I did finally kill your Uncle.~

“But wouldn’t... wouldn’t you want to be free of this if you could?” Harry asked, hopeful that maybe Draco might be able to see life without his father and find it to be better than his current circumstances.

Those hopes were dashed when Draco shook his head once, sharply. “He’s my father, Harry. I can’t fathom life without him. I need him to keep me safe from the rest of the world.”

“But Draco, who’s going to protect you from him?” Harry asked.

“He’s my father. It’s his right to torture me as he sees fit.” Draco lifted one shaking hand just a little bit off the bed and stared at it. “I’m a failure as a son. My father has every right to correct those failures, and I know that it hurts him to do so as much as it hurts me to have it done. But you see, Harry, it’s always been the way of the Malfoys. Perfection is more than just a goal, it’s a requirement. Until I can meet that requirement, he’ll have every right to continue to correct my behavior.”

“It doesn’t work like that!” Harry protested. “He should love you for who you are, not for some... some unattainable ideal of perfection that you’ll never meet!”

Draco’s eyes snapped up, wide and offended. “So you’re saying that I’ll never meet my father’s goals?” he asked, voice as frigid as it had been when he’d accused Harry of attempting to stop the Dark Lord. It was more than a little terrifying to hear.

~Harry, might I suggest backing off on the matter for now?~ Tom murmured, sounding more than a little alarmed. ~I don’t think that Draco’s ready to hear the truths that you and I both know.~

Harry closed his eyes and said carefully, “That isn’t what I meant at all, Draco,” in his gentlest, most unassuming voice. Draco responded, relaxing minutely into the bed, and Harry continued with, “I just meant that I already think you’re pretty great, and I hate to see you hurting. That’s all.”

Draco relaxed entirely. “I don’t... it isn’t that I like hurting,” he said in a very small voice. “So don’t think that I’m not grateful to you for making him stop earlier today. And he does scare me sometimes, when he threatens to... to make sure that I can no longer be such a stain on the Malfoy name, but he’s my father, Harry!”

“I understand,” Harry said soothingly, lying through his teeth. He didn’t get it. Even when he’d been freaking out about Tom killing his Uncle, he didn’t think he’d really mourned the man. He’d gotten what was coming to him. But Harry could tell that Draco absolutely would mourn his father were the man to drop dead right then and there. It confused him to no end.

~Maybe he’d mourn the father he never had,~ Tom suggested.

“So what did happen with my father after I passed out?” Draco asked suddenly. His eyes were drifting closed as he spoke, his body sagging further into the pillows.

Harry coughed, cleared his throat, blushed, and said nothing.

His silence was apparently enough to wake Draco up entirely, and the blonde sat up once more. “Seriously, Harry. What did you do to my father after I passed out?” he asked once more.

“You won’t like it,” Harry warned, still blushing. He’d just avoided a fight with Draco; he didn’t want another one. And Draco really wouldn’t like this, he just knew it.

“Now you’re frightening me,” Draco said. And then he blanched and he asked, desperately, “You didn’t kill him already, did you Harry?” He looked absolutely gutted by the thought.

“What? No! He’s not dead! He might be insanely embarrassed, but he’s not dead,” Harry said loudly. And then he looked away and muttered, “Imighthavesnappedhiswand.”

“You... you what?” Draco asked, an absolute and utter lack of inflection in his voice.

“I said, I might have snapped his wand,” Harry repeated, slightly louder. His lips were curling into a smile now with remembered pride at the feeling of Lucius’s wand snapping like a dry twig within his hands. He still couldn’t believe it had been so easy to pull it from Lucius’s hand. You would think that the wizard would have more of a grip when things like the summoning charm could be used at any moment to disarm him. Was he just that arrogant? It didn’t really matter, it was better for Harry that the wand had been so easily grabbed, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

“You snapped... you snapped my father’s wand?” Draco repeated, mouth dropping open like a fish when Harry dared to look up at him.

“He had it coming! I warned him, he knows what I carry within me, and he still tried to curse me with the Cruciatus Curse. I couldn’t just let that slide, Draco!” Harry was scowling defensively, he couldn’t help it.

Draco... giggled. It was a tiny sound, almost a snort, and the moment it passed from his lips he began to laugh aloud. “You... oh, Harry, if I could have seen his face!” Draco said, still giggling.

“You’re... not angry?” Harry asked, relaxing just a bit. Draco was smiling, and giggling, that had to be a good thing, right?

Draco shook his head, still giggling. His hands were still shaking, he still looked pale and drawn, and Harry knew that he wouldn’t budge on the matter of his father just yet, but at least for now he was smiling and laughing.

It gave Harry hope that maybe one day Draco wouldn’t be so devastated if he gave Lucius what was coming to him.

~Harry, have I ever told you how chilling it is how very bloodthirsty you are when it comes to Draco?~ Tom asked, sounding just a bit concerned. Draco had finally stopped laughing and succumbed to the pull of exhaustion, falling asleep still sitting up, his head slumping awkwardly to one side.

So Harry felt perfectly secure in smiling a vicious, bloodthirsty little grin. ~I only learned from the best, Tom,~ he said quietly. He tucked Draco back under the covers, not wanting the other to wake with a crick in his neck. He would be uncomfortable enough in the coming days without the added problem of neck strain.

~So I take it that there’s no chance that I’ll convince you to go away on holiday this summer,~ Tom asked as they watched Draco sleep.

~Oh, no. I intend on staying here and making absolutely certain that dear Lucius can’t hurt Draco again,~ Harry answered calmly. ~And if he does, if I see it happening again Tom, all bets are off. At least if Lucius is dead Draco will be both alive and sane enough to hate me.~

ooOOooOOoo

The summer passed uneasily.

On the one hand, Harry had a great time with Draco once they’d agreed to disagree on the subject of one Lucius Malfoy. They ran about outside, practiced some standard Quidditch formations, and had massive pillow fights in Draco’s room once the blonde knew what a pillow fight was. Harry learned to ride a horse, then a pegasus, and while he definitely preferred his broom, the pegasus was quite entertaining. Although Harry’s had thrown him once, much to Draco’s entertainment.

He also obtained those books Tom had requested. The second had, in fact, been on the restricted list. He’d run into Professor Snape, though, and had quietly asked the other where he might find it. Professor Snape had studied him for a moment, one eyebrow raised, looking at him as though he wasn’t fit to scrape mud off of his shoes, and then taken Harry to his own personal library where he handed over the tome in question. Harry had thanked him rather profusely and taken excellent care of the novel while it was in his hands. He and Tom practiced within Harry’s mindscape, in a cavernous room that Harry had never seen before. It was sort of creepy the way that Tom could add and change rooms in Harry’s mind, but Harry realized that essentially his mind was Tom’s home and he had every right to want to rearrange his home on occasion.

On the other hand, he was waiting rather uneasily for the other shoe to drop. He’d thrown down a gauntlet with Lucius, a fact that the other didn’t let him forget. When Lucius showed up at dinner for the first time three nights after the incident, it was with an entirely different wand. When Professor Snape had enquired about it, Lucius had nearly bit his head off and had raised his wand to him, prompting their Lord to involve himself in the discussion. After receiving a round of the Cruciatus curse for attempting to attack the Dark Lord’s lover, Lucius had glared so severely at Harry that Harry actually could feel a little bit of singeing at the edges of his robes. It was disturbing. But, if Harry was going to be entirely honest, it was also more than a little bit entertaining.

But Lucius didn’t make any moves that summer, a fact that only left Harry more on edge. Lucius Malfoy was not the kind of man to allow an insult to go unanswered. He would be plotting revenge, both Harry and Tom were sure of it. Harry just had to make sure that he was ready when that revenge presented itself, that was all.

These were the thoughts running through Harry’s head when Voldemort summoned him to his sitting room on the eve of his return to Hogwarts. Had Lucius finally told Voldemort about Harry snapping his wand? Was there something else at play here? He’d been ignored by the Dark Lord all summer beyond that first meeting; what could he possibly want now?

His question was answered the minute he settled into the chair next to the Dark Lord. “Harry, child, I have a task for you in the coming year...”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Harry settled uneasily in the chair next to Voldemort. He didn’t particularly want to be here and felt awkward in the Dark Lord’s study. They would be returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, so why would Voldemort have waited until the eve before he returned to talk to him? It was uncomfortable not knowing exactly what to expect, and Harry didn’t like being uncomfortable. Not that anybody was ever really fond of being uncomfortable.

“Thank you for coming here tonight,” Voldemort finally said, leaning back in his chair. His fingers were steepled, and Harry couldn’t help comparing him to a villain in the movies once more. Maybe Voldemort had seen those same movies? Most likely not, considering that Tom had left the Muggle world behind far before movies were prevalent.

~I dare you to ask him,~ Tom said, snickering.

Harry let out a huffing sigh. “It wasn’t a problem coming, my Lord. I am at your disposal. After all, for all that this is technically Malfoy Manor, you were the one to offer me shelter here. For that, I’m grateful.” Tom, he ignored. It seemed as Harry grew more mature, Tom grew more juvenile. Harry wasn’t sure that he liked that so much, either. Harry wasn’t liking much at all right about now.

“I take it that Tom is being inappropriate?” Voldemort asked, one eyebrow raising.

“You could say that,” Harry muttered. ~Seriously, stop making me look like an idiot when I’m speaking the version of you that’s actually, you know, living.~

~Ooh, somebody’s cranky,~ Tom sang, still snickering over his own wit.

~Seriously.~ Harry went back to tuning Tom out, focusing his attention entirely on Voldemort, who was looking, thankfully, patiently amused rather than irritated.

“If he’s quite finished,” Voldemort said, glaring at Harry, or more likely at Tom within Harry, “then I have some things I’d like you to do for me over the coming school year if you’d be willing.”

“As my Lord wills it,” Harry answered. What else was there to say? He had the feeling that Voldemort wouldn’t take too well to a simple no. Tom certainly never had, and still didn’t, and he was a much mellower version of the Dark Lord.

“The first is arguably the simplest. I need for you to retrieve my diadem from the room of hidden things. I’m sure that Tom remembers where the room is and how to access it,” Voldemort said dryly.

~I do,~ Tom confirmed.

“He does, sir,” Harry said aloud.

“Excellent. Once retrieved, you’ll store the diadem within the Chamber of Secrets, along with a book that I’d like you to retrieve from the Headmaster’s office. That won’t be an easy task, but I’m sure that you and Tom together can manage it before Christmas, which is when I’ll expect you to present both the diadem and the book.” Voldemort studied his hands, and then said quietly, “As the book is in parseltongue, I don’t imagine you’ll be able to read it.”

Harry hesitated. A memory sprang vividly to his mind of the incident with the boa constrictor and Tom telling him that he was a parselmouth. Did Voldemort really need to know that information? Or, perhaps the better question was, was there any value in hiding the fact from the Dark Lord? No, there really wasn’t. “Sir, with all due respect, I actually am a parselmouth.”

Voldemort actually looked surprised. “Are you, then? I wasn’t aware that it was a gift common to the Potter line,” he murmured to himself, brow furrowing.

“No, sir, as far as I’m aware it isn’t. But it is a gift in your line, is it not?” Harry asked quietly.

Voldemort let out a small hiss. “I forgot that you’d misappropriated some of my powers,” he said flatly. He sent Harry a disapproving look, then sighed and said, “Well, I suppose it’s all for the best that you have the ability. It will make my third task for you that much easier. But first, more on the book I’d like you to procure from the Headmaster’s study.”

~How exactly does he expect us to sneak into the Headmaster’s office with all those portraits lying about? And also, how does he want us to deal with that bloody phoenix?~ Tom asked, sounding vexed. All traces of laughter were gone from the spirit’s voice now, and Harry could feel the spirit reviewing magical theory within his mind.

It was a disconcerting feeling, but Harry tuned it out as best as he could. “Tom wants to know what you want us to do about the phoenix and the portraits,” Harry repeated to the Dark Lord, who seemed to be waiting for something.

“Well, you’ll just have to figure something out, won’t you? Perhaps that lovely cloak of yours might do some good in your search?” Voldemort suggested. He was smirking, now, a cruel little smirk that delighted in Harry’s uncertainty. “After all, this is something that I would be able to do were I able to gain access to the school. I’ve no doubt that the spirit within you can do the same.”

“Of course we can, my Lord,” Harry said, affronted at the idea that Tom was incapable of doing something. It just wasn’t true. Tom had never failed him before, after all. He had no doubt that Tom would come through once more for him.

~Harry, your confidence in me is absolutely touching,~ Tom said, no trace of sarcasm within his voice.

Harry flushed and ducked his head and said, “Was there anything else I should know about the book?” he asked, trying to disguise his embarrassment. Of course it didn’t do too much good; the one he wanted to hide from was within his head. There wasn’t really any hiding of emotions from the being within his head, after all.

Voldemort leaned forward and tapped a large, faded black volume lying sedately on the table, its script in faded white lettering, so faded it was almost grey. Voldemort lifted the book and handed it to Harry, who studied the cover. Secrets of the Darkest Arts, the title read, by Owle Bullock.

Harry’s eyes widened. He flipped open the book, only to find the pages covered in an indecipherable scrawl. Harry blinked at it, squinted, but it did nothing. “What is this?” he asked, hesitant.

“This is an exact replica of the book I’d like you to take from the Headmaster’s office. Not the inside, of course, as I obviously cannot recall the full text. There’s a reason I need that book from the Headmaster. Hopefully he’ll have read all that he needs to from it and he won’t notice it. The outside, though, the title, that’s the real thing. It’s exactly the volume that I want you to take for me, and I’d like you to leave this one in it’s place. The Headmaster ideally won’t notice a difference in the two until it’s far too late.”

Harry snapped the book shut. “I can do that,” he said with a confidence he didn’t really feel at all. “This book... what exactly is it about?” Harry asked rather hesitantly. He didn’t want to be seen as questioning the Dark Lord, but he was genuinely curious. Tom refused to discuss the some of the darkest arts with him, despite their rather intense training within his mindscape over the summer. Said that he was too young. Though Harry was reluctant to admit it, there was the chance that Tom was right.

“It is,” Voldemort began, then paused. Finally, he started again with a quiet, “It is about things you are infinitely too young to be learning of. I would prefer it if you did not read through the manual in question. The magics contained within are questionable at best. I...” Voldemort paused, as though considering. “I merely need to look into correcting some things that I have meddled with that perhaps I should not have.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised with curiosity, but he swallowed his questions. Once he felt that he’d be able to speak without bursting out with an inappropriate question, Harry said, “I should be able to obtain the book and the diadem before Christmas, as you requested sir. Providing there are no major mishaps, and that Tom cooperates with our goals.” Harry waited a moment, then asked, “You did mention a third task?” rather hesitantly.

Voldemort smiled, a grim little thing. “I would imagine that this is where the spirit within you and I are going to argue.” The Dark Lord waited a moment, then said, “I would like for you to open the Chamber of Secrets once more and unleash that which lies within on the student body for the second time in our history.”

~No,~ Tom said flatly. ~Absolutely not.~

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re right, sir, he’s refusing entirely,” he informed Voldemort. ~What’s so bad about doing that?~ Harry asked Tom.

~You’re too young. I absolutely won’t have him turning you into some kind of an assassin during your tenure at Hogwarts. It’s ridiculous, unthinkable even.~ Tom’s voice was shaking in his anger, and Harry could feel it rising up within him, making his breath come faster and his head begin to spin.

“Are you quite alright, child?” Voldemort asked. His expression could almost be classified as concerned.

“Fine, sir, Tom’s just... he’s just very furious at the thought of me opening the Chamber of Secrets, whatever that is,” Harry said, rather perplexed by Tom’s sudden rage at the idea of him doing the Dark Lord’s bidding. Had this not been what Tom had wanted all along, for Harry to get involved and be of assistance to Voldemort?

~Not like this!~ Tom howled. ~Not while you’re so young! You’re going to play Quidditch this year, not go about murdering students!~

~Murdering students?~ Harry echoed, sounding faintly horrified. ~Who said anything about murdering students?~ And then, aloud, he said, “Tom seems to think that you want me to go about murdering students. I think I should say, sir, if that’s your intention I won’t be able to do it. I don’t think that Tom will let me.”

“I was under the impression that Tom couldn’t actively control your body,” Voldemort murmured. He began to tap his wand against the arm of his chair.

Harry watched the tip of the wand move rather warily. He was rather reluctant to be cursed again, as he was sure that anybody would understand. “He can’t, sir,” Harry finally agreed. “But he can make things so very difficult to concentrate that it becomes quite impossible for me to accomplish a task. He’s done so before,” Harry said darkly. He didn’t like to think about that one History of Magic last year, when Tom had been so annoyed by Binns that he’d made it impossible for Harry to pay attention to the lecture. Not that there was much to pay attention to, but that wasn’t even the point. Harry was still irritated that there was a great, gaping hole in his notes from last year, right between November the third and fifth.

~Oh, please, you didn’t even leave an empty spot to borrow Draco’s notes,~ Tom muttered in protest. ~That’s how worthless the class was. Is, since you’re still stuck in it.~

“You can tell him... or rather, if he’s listening, he should understand that I’m not actually asking you to kill anybody. That would be counterproductive as I don’t wish for the school to be shut down. No, what I’m asking for you to do, Harry, is to provide a distraction for the Headmaster to concern himself with while I make and potentially enact plans of my own.”

Harry could feel Tom relax within him at Voldemort’s matter-of-fact statement. Harry relaxed as well. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t been looking forward to the idea of becoming a murderer so early on in life, either. But he would have done it because he’d chosen his side. And the side that he was on wouldn’t win the war with hugs and kisses and fluffy kittens.

Although Minerva was turning into quite the warrior. She’d brought Harry dead mice for his birthday which had amused him and horrified Draco, who apparently hadn’t been aware that there were mice within the manor. Which had led to magical exterminators being called. It had made Harry’s rather sedate party that much more entertaining, watching the Malfoys be horrified by the presence of mice.

“I think that Tom and I can manage a distraction, sir. What specifically did you have in mind?” Harry asked, pushing aside the thoughts of his birthday luncheon and his kitten. Well, cat at this point.

Voldemort was smiling again, a grim and vicious little thing. “Five mudblood students over the course of the year, Mr. Potter. That’s all I want to be petrified. Not killed, petrified. Saliss will help you with that; you’ll find him in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Did you want me to space them out throughout the year, or do you want them all by Christmas?” Harry asked, to make absolutely certain that he had his order of events correct.

“Throughout the year. As I said, I’d like to keep Dumbledore out of my hair.”

~We can do that, Harry,~ Tom said, sounding relieved. Harry could feel his relief, and he could empathize with it. He hadn’t been looking forward to committing murder. “Tom and I will take care of it, my Lord,” Harry said with a nod of his head.

“Good.” Voldemort sighed, then said quietly, “Then that’s all that I needed from you. Dismissed, Mr. Potter. Don’t be afraid to write if you think you can do so in a way that won’t attract the Headmaster’s attention.”

“My Lord,” Harry said in acknowledgement. He stood, offered Voldemort a short, precise bow, then turned on his heel and left the room. He really didn’t want to be hexed for disobeying just before returning to Hogwarts. After all, if he played his cards right, he’d still have time for Quidditch during the school year. ~Right Tom?~ Harry asked.

Tom let out a heavy sigh. ~And here I’d hoped that you’d given up on that ridiculous notion,~ he said mournfully.

ooOOooOOoo

“You’re leaving me in the morning,” Voldemort whispered against the soft skin of Severus’s neck.

Severus shuddered, he couldn’t help it. He’d been brewing; he hadn’t heard his Lord enter the room. As always, Voldemort had waited until he had finished the latest, crucial stage in his potion before interrupting, so Severus had time to enjoy the attentions of his lover. Well, he had ten minutes before the next ingredient had to be added.

“You need me there, if only to monitor the old fool,” Severus murmured, sagging back against Tom as his Lord’s arms curled around his stomach. He’d been alone for ten long years; it was still so very hard to believe that his Lord had come back to him, as whole and healthy as when he’d gone away. It was nothing less than a miracle. He savored the feeling.

“I do,” Tom was confirming, nuzzling at Severus’s throat. “But I miss you when you’re gone all the same. And we’ve only just been reunited.”

Severus chuckled. “It’s been two months,” he protested, a smile still playing at the edge of his lips. “We’ve more than become reacquainted with one another’s nuances once more.” He straightened and turned in his Lord’s arms, smiling into those crimson eyes of his. “But I will miss you so very much when I’m there with Dumbledore.”

His Lord hissed softly, the parseltongue words vibrating against Severus’s lips and making him shudder. He couldn’t understand the tongue, but the sound was... inspiring, to say the least. “I’ve given the Potter boy a task, several, in fact,” Tom murmured into Severus’s ear, his breath brushing against it with every word. “I’d like to see if he can accomplish them on his own. Your task will be to both observe him and to help keep Dumbledore off of him should the suspicion prove to be too much for the boy to deal with.”

Severus shuddered. Never had orders sounded so sexy as they did when they came from his Lord. “Your will is mine, my Lord,” he murmured.

“Hmm... always so obedient, my Severus,” Tom murmured, then bent down and took Severus’s lips in a kiss. “I should send you off with something to remember me by,” he hissed, and Severus couldn’t find it in him to object.

Behind them, the experimental potion turned an awful shade of mottled brown, then bubbled, and hissed, and eventually overflowed and melted both the cauldron and the counter it sat upon before it cooled. But they were both focused on other things, and so they neither noticed nor cared.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron’s summer had not gone well.

From the moment he’d gotten off the train, he’d known it wasn’t going to. His parents were still furious with him over the whole ‘befriending Draco Malfoy’ thing he’d done during the school year. Ron still didn’t regret it, even if it meant that his summer with his parents was passed in a stony silence. Of course, his ill thought out diatribe against Muggles in general probably hadn’t helped with that. He didn’t even know why he’d said the things he’d said. He should have kept his mouth shut.

He knew that his parents were worried about him. He could understand that, he supposed, since he was a little worried that his friendship with Draco and Harry was changing him, too. He would most likely have been an entirely different person had he not become friends with Harry on the train the first day. But would he have been a better person? No, Ron was pretty sure he wouldn’t’ve. Remembering the jealousy that he’d had to fight back even as his two friends lay in the hospital wing, he thought the changes wrought within him were probably good changes, which was where his opinion differed from his parents. He didn’t understand how they didn’t approve of the way that he knew he was changing. Before he’d been so eager to be better than his brothers, now he knew that he was well on his way to that. Shouldn’t they be glad that he’d gained a little bit of self-esteem?

But no. They were most assuredly not glad. And Ron was sort of getting sick of the worried glances in his direction when they thought that he wasn’t paying attention. And the extra chores. Such as this one. De-gnoming the garden was a boring, irritating task. But I am good at it, he mused as he sent one of the little pests flying over the garden wall. That one wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.

“You know, you could just apologize to them for whatever it was that you did,” Ginny said suddenly, and Ron jumped. He hadn’t realized that she’d been watching him.

“I could, but that would be a lie. I’m not actually sorry,” he said, turning to his little sister. She was seated on the low wall of the garden, studying him rather curiously. “What?” he asked.

“Just what did you do, anyway? Mum and Dad won’t say.” She hopped off the wall, smoothed down her skirt, then moved to stand next to him. “They’re acting like it’s a huge scandal or something. But I know you, Ron, you’re just not the scandal type. So what’s got them all in a tizzy?”

Ron sighed. “I was Sorted into Slytherin. You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I heard. I was surprised when I heard. We’re all Gryffindors; you don’t belong there,” Ginny said.

Ron shook his head. “You’re wrong.” He’d argued with the hat at first. Oh, he’d argued. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed spending time with Harry and Draco on the train, it was that he knew that if he went to Slytherin it would change him. He wasn’t stupid then, and he still wasn’t now. His parents claimed to be good, decent folk, and they were, but they didn’t see any graduates of Slytherin house as being the same. They never had. They liked to tell their children to be tolerant, but they didn’t practice that in reality. He hadn’t wanted to deal with that when he came home for the summer.

“What am I wrong about?” Ginny asked, staring at Ron with wide brown eyes.

“I do belong in Slytherin. I wasn’t sure, not at first, but I am now. The Sorting Hat made the right choice when it sent me to Slytherin.” It had taken Ron far too long to come to that conclusion. In fact, even when he’d arrived home for the summer he’d still been wondering if maybe the hat had made a mistake, but he knew now that it hadn’t.

“You should maybe head inside and tell Mum and Dad that,” Ginny suggested, shuffling her feet awkwardly in the dirt.

Ron snorted. “Why would I do that? You don’t think they’d actually listen, do you?” Because they wouldn’t. He knew his parents, they would never believe that he truly thought he belonged in Slytherin house. He knew exactly what they’d say. He was only twelve. He didn’t know what he wanted out of life. He was too young to understand the implications of his sorting.

“I think you’ll be kicking yourself if you don’t,” Ginny answered, now fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I mean, they’ve got the Headmaster in there to talk about getting you resorted. I thought maybe you might want to stand up and give your opinion about it.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Thanks Ginny!” he shouted, and took off towards the house. Hopefully it wasn’t too late and they hadn’t already made a decision.

ooOOooOOoo

It was a little known fact of the wizarding world that Albus Dumbledore despised parents. They were ridiculous. They were meddlesome. What was it about parents that made them think that they knew their children so well after they hadn’t seen them, in some cases, for nine months? They saw the child for three months out of the year, at most. Albus saw them every day. Why, why, why would they then think that they knew their child better than Albus did? It was a constant, ongoing source of frustration for the Headmaster, one that most people wouldn’t understand.

The Weasleys, as a general rule, did not fall into this category of parents. For one thing, they were in fact quite in tune with their children. They understood their children better than most parents did, and it was a delight to work with them. For another, unless they had to be called in on a matter, Molly and Arthur were generally content to let Albus handle matters as he saw fit. Apparently, this was no longer the case.

“Albus, please, you have to understand that being in Slytherin is damaging Ron!” Molly cried. She was so distraught over the matter that she was actually weeping.

Even knowing that Molly would weep at the drop of a hat, Albus was still more than a little disconcerted. “Molly, I understand that you and Arthur are upset,” Albus began, only to be interrupted by a hand slamming on the table. Startled, he turned his gaze on the generally more even-tempered of the two, Arthur.

Arthur, who was red in the face he was so angry. Who had been moved to slam his hand on the table, something that Albus didn’t think he’d ever seen the man do. “No, Albus, I don’t think you understand at all,” the man said, quite mildly considering his red face.

Albus gritted his teeth on the snarl that wanted to escape. “Then please, Arthur, why don’t you tell me,” he suggested with an easy, grandfatherly smile. It was difficult, but he even managed to add a twinkle in there.

“Do you know what Ron said to us, the night he came home from Hogwarts? We argued, and he told us that Muggles were... were monsters that would kill us all if they found out about us. We didn’t raise him to think like that, Albus,” Arthur said imploringly.

“I understand that,” Albus soothed. “But all houses will have silly little tales being told that don’t necessarily reflect reality. Why, every year I have a distraught parent firecalling because their little Ravenclaw was told that the ghost of Rowena will attack any students who don’t score perfectly on their exams.”

“That isn’t the same, Albus! That has no real world basis. But attitudes like the ones prevalent in Slytherin are a real problem out in the wizarding world! We don’t want Ron to be exposed to such things. To be exposed to... to Malfoys!” Molly spat the last word like it was a curse. Arthur’s head was bobbing in agreement, and he took his wife’s hand in an obvious show of solidarity.

Albus let out an internal groan and resisted the urge to make it external. There it was, the root of the entire problem. Of course this would come back to the family’s blood feud with the Malfoys. Of course. It would horrify them to know that Ron had actually made friends with the Malfoy scion, and no doubt they were hoping that with a re-sorting, Ron would be forced to separate from what they thought of as a very poor influence on their son.

Albus took a moment to consider exactly what it was that he wanted to say about the matter, then said quietly, “I certainly understand your concerns about the Malfoy boy. To be perfectly honest, I share those same concerns. The Malfoy family is a cancer upon our world, one that I would cut out if only I could.” He bowed his head and shook it mournfully, deliberately evoking a memory within the two before him of the way that Lucius had bribed his way out of Azkaban in the aftermath of the first war with Voldemort.

There was silence for a moment and then, falteringly, “Then you understand why we want Ron moved, right? And you’ll do that for us?” from Arthur. His voice was low, pleading.

Albus mournfully shook his head once more, the picture of a grandfather who had made many hard choices in his life. “How can I justify asking the Hat to move him when it was I that insisted that he go there in the first place?” There was a loud banging sound after he spoke. Albus fought down an eyeroll at the antics of the twins. They were impossible.

“Albus!” Molly exclaimed, shocked. “Why would you have done such a thing?” she asked, voice still choked and weepy.

Albus sighed. To tell them, or not to tell them? They trusted him, that much was obvious. And it would certainly be the path of least resistance. So... “I’m afraid it’s all to do with the Potter boy. I met him before school started, you see, when his Uncle was felled by a wandless, wordless Killing Curse. He is... he is a disturbing individual.” Albus closed his eyes. There was just something so off about the child. If only he could figure out what, he could take steps to fix it. The fact remained that all was not as it was supposed to be. And the Sorcerer’s Stone was gone, too. Albus was still sore over that. Flamel had been furious with him for losing the Stone, on top of possibly having that annoying little upstart running around once more.

“What does that have to do with our Ron?” Arthur demanded, looking upset.

“I could see, even though I had only moments with him, that Harry was going to Slytherin. And you all know of the influences within Slytherin. I couldn’t... I couldn’t let those influences go unchecked.” Albus allowed his voice to choke up, here, as though he was truly devastated by what he was saying. He really, really wasn’t. “I had to choose a student just coming in, a little one that I knew I could trust, that had a good family to support them and that had been taught right from wrong consistently. So I... I ordered the Hat to place little Ron in Slytherin, in the hope that it would keep the Potter boy from falling to some of the worst influences within the wizarding world.”

“Oh, Albus!” Molly cried. She burst into great sobs once more and asked through her tears, “Is it really that important that the boy be kept on our side of things? I mean, so what if another one falls? Do you have to sacrifice our youngest son to that cause?”

“The war isn’t over, Molly, Arthur,” Albus said, with a grave nod for each of them. “Not many people know this, but it’s really just beginning. Harry will play an instrumental role in the war that’s coming, and your son is being given the precious opportunity to help shape the way that Harry looks at the world. You must understand that war is a terrible business, and sometimes it does require sacrifice. What Ron is doing, the house where Ron’s been sorted, both are in the name of the greater good. He’s invaluable where we’ve got him now.”

By the end of his speech, Molly was still sniffling a bit, but she had bowed her head in assent. Arthur was nodding along, brow furrowed but mind clear of any dissent.

When Albus left only moments later, he was convinced that he would have no more trouble from the Weasleys.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, feeling curiously numb.

He was being sacrificed. Like a pawn needed to lure the opposing knight into the right position, Ron was being sacrificed.

It didn’t matter that Ron was pretty sure that no actual harm would come to him in Slytherin. It didn’t matter that he liked where he was. It didn’t matter that he would have been devastated had he been forced to go to another house now that the first year was over. The point was that his parents thought he was in some sort of danger, whether it be moral or physical, and they were letting him stay in the name of the greater good.

He was being sacrificed.

Okay, yes, he was getting what he wanted. He was being allowed to stay in Slytherin. But... but what did it matter? His parents were, apparently, willing to throw him away. To let him stay in what they believed to be a dangerous situation just because the Headmaster said to do so. In the name of the greater good, he was being offered up to the evils of Slytherin. Never mind that Slytherin wasn’t evil in the first place, that wasn’t the point.

Ron wasn’t sure that he’d ever be able to trust his parents again. Not after this.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Harry was almost bouncing in place as they waited on the train for Ron to show up. He couldn’t help it. They hadn’t seen Ron, really seen him that was to say, since the end of the school year. They’d run into him briefly while they shopped in Diagon Alley for their school supplies, but Ron hadn’t been able to take the time to talk to them. Ron had tried, but his parents had given him such an awful look that he’d backed down almost immediately.

“Would you please sit still?” Draco finally snapped. He had a book in his hand, but he’d been reading the same page for over ten minutes as far as Harry could tell.

Harry froze. “I hadn’t realized I wasn’t,” he answered carefully. Things between them had been strained ever since the incident with Lucius when Harry first arrived.

Oh, Draco was the perfect host, absolutely. He still made sure that Harry was being entertained, still spent time with him, but... there was something else there. A wariness to all of their interactions that broke Harry’s heart. He’d tried to tell Draco that he wasn’t interested in doing anything that Draco didn’t want him to, but it didn’t seem to do any good. Draco was still so... so nervous, Harry supposed, that Harry was going to turn in his father that it colored all of their interactions from that moment on.

Harry did his absolute best to be unassuming and unthreatening. He made no hostile gestures towards Lucius, never spoke another word against the man after that first argument over the summer, but he did make absolutely certain that Draco wasn’t left alone with his father. Harry couldn’t do anything less than that. It hurt him to think of Draco hurting when Harry knew that he could prevent it.

“Your knee was twitching,” Draco bit out. He shook his head then, once, sharply, and added, “I’m sorry. It isn’t your fault that I’m so irritable.” Draco lifted a hand to brush his hair back, and Harry realized with a start that it was shaking.

“Draco, did...” Harry trailed off. Of course he hadn’t been with Draco all day and all night during the summer. It would have been impossible. The possibility certainly existed that Lucius had managed to corner his son at some point during the previous two and half months. Harry hadn’t even considered that possibility.

~Idiot,~ Tom said fondly, and Harry fought the urge to argue with the spirit. If Tom had known it to be a possibility, why had Tom not helped him prepare for that eventuality? ~Because, you silly little child, unlike some of those in this body I know when it’s my place to intervene.~

~You say that like there’s more than two of us in here,~ Harry said warily. He knew that it was just himself and Tom within his mind, but the way that Tom phrased it made Harry feel like there were more people in there, just waiting to pop out. Now that he thought about it, that was probably Tom’s idea of a practical joke.

“That’s none of your business, Potter,” Draco snapped, jolting Harry back to reality.

“My apologies, Malfoy,” he shot back, one eyebrow raising. “Are we really going back to last names over this?”

“I just don’t think it’s any of your business if-”

The compartment door slid open, and Draco cut off looking horrified as Ron slid into the train compartment. he settled his things and then flopped rather gracelessly into his seat. He glanced at both of them and muttered a less than pleased, “Hey.”

“Hi there,” Harry asked, and began to wonder if maybe it was something in the air that was making both Ron and Draco more irritable than normal. Was it affecting him as well, and maybe he wasn’t noticing it? ~Tom, am I being more irritable than normal?~ he asked plaintively.

~No, Harry. It isn’t something in the air. Use that brain of yours that I know is in there. You know Draco’s deepest, darkest secret. Ron’s probably spent the entire summer defending his friendships, unsuccessfully, to his parents. Neither one of them is in the best of shape right now, emotionally speaking. Don’t forget that both of them are only twelve years old, and they don’t have the benefit of a sixty year old man living inside their minds.~

Harry checked a sigh. He didn’t want to irritate either of them any more than they already were. Because when Tom phrased it like that, yeah, Harry could see why both might be a little moody. That didn’t necessarily mean that he liked it. He wished that he could do something to help both of them, but somehow he just knew that wasn’t welcome. Well, Draco had come out and said it, but he had a feeling that Ron would be much the same way. Not that there was really anything he could do for Ron, anyway. What could he do? Imperius his parents into accepting Ron’s friends? Or maybe he could Obliviate their memories of the blood feud. Because Ron would absolutely appreciate either of those actions.

Instead, quietly, carefully, Harry asked, “Game of chess, anyone?”

Ron hesitated, then said finally, “I could go for a game. Especially since I know that I’m going to win if the match is against you!” He was smiling, now, but the smile appeared a little stiff and unnatural. Harry wanted so badly to push, to know what was wrong, but he resisted the urge.

“I suppose I can play the winner. Which, of course, means that I’ll play Ron,” Draco drawled. He was looking just a little bit more relaxed as well, and Harry allowed his sigh of relief to escape.

By the time the trolley witch came around with sweets, things were almost back to normal and Ron was howling at Harry, “There’s no way that anybody on earth can play as badly as you do, Harry!”

Tom was agreeing, and Draco was laughing aloud, his hands no longer shaking. The year hadn’t even begun yet, and already it was looking up.

ooOOooOOoo

This year was going to suck, Harry thought morosely as he stared at the smarmy blonde wizard staring back at the students from the teacher’s table.

~Oh, Harry, it might not be that...~ Tom trailed off into laughter, unable to finish his statement. Harry fought down a sneer.

~Don’t give me that bullshit. Look at the man! There’s no way, no way in hell that you can tell me that a smarmy looking wizard like that knows anything about Defense!~ Harry snarled, unable to stop himself. This was absolutely ludicrous. What had the Headmaster been thinking?

~Probably that he was the only one who would take the job,~ Tom said with a smug little snicker.

Harry froze, his fork halfway up to his mouth. He very deliberately finished taking his bite of food, then asked Tom rather severely, ~What did you do?~

~What makes you think that I did anything?~ Tom asked, as innocent as a thief.

~I want you to know that, were we not in public, I would absolutely be glaring at you in the mirror right now,~ Harry shot back. ~I think that you did something because I know you, Tom, and I know that you would have done something mean like cursing a profession when it did something to spite you.~

~Honestly, Harry, what a cruel thing to accuse me of! And just when you’d planned to sneak out and go after the diadem, too. You’ll have a hard time doing that today if you don’t be nice to me,~ Tom sang.

~Like you’ll prevent me from completing one of Voldemort’s tasks out of pique,~ Harry shot back instantly. ~And also, what did you do to the Defense position, Tom?~

~You’re so cruel to me, Harry. And you’ve got no flair for style. You have no idea what form vengeance should take,~ Tom complained. ~Knowing you, you’ll tell me to undo it.~

~No flair for style? What do you call snapping Lucius’s wand?~ Harry protested.

~Okay, so that took style. I’ll give you that one. But you still don’t know a thing about vengeance, and how long it should take.~

~I’m twelve, as you’re so fond of pointing out. I shouldn’t know a damned thing about vengeance. I don’t even have any reasons to take vengeance on a person right now. But you do, Tom. So again, what did you do?~

~There’s a possibility that, in my somewhat misspent youth, I may have been interested in taking on the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. And there is also a chance that, when denied the opportunity to do so by one Albus Dumbledore, I may or may not have cursed the position for all following candidates. You’ll never have a professor for longer than a year in that class, Harry, so long as my curse remains in effect,~ Tom said, sounding terribly chipper.

Harry sort of wanted to strangle him right then and there. ~Seriously? You’re the reason that we had Quirrell, who was an idiot, and now this smarmy bastard?~ he asked incredulously.

~Don’t be so upset. I’m also the reason that Quirrell was gone after a year, aren’t I?~ Tom asked, the picture of wounded pride. Harry could just see him standing there in that sitting room of his, hands clasped to his heart, red eyes wide in innocence.

Harry didn’t buy the image for a minute. ~If only because your face was attached to his head, yes,~ Harry shot back, irritated.

“Harry, mate?” Ron asked hesitantly, jarring Harry from his argument with Tom.

“Yeah, Ron?” Harry asked, trying not to look like he’d just been arguing with a spirit that lived inside his head. People tended to frown upon that sort of behavior, after all.

“Aren’t you going to finish your food?” Ron asked with a gesture at Harry’s still mostly full plate.

Harry’s stomach growled, reminding him that yes he was hungry and also, yes, he should eat and stop staring straight ahead like a lunatic. So he did, and ignored Tom for the rest of the meal. It would do the spirit good to be ignored or a bit, Harry thought.

ooOOooOOoo

~You know, you never did mention what happened to Quirrell after Voldemort managed to get his body back,~ Harry said conversationally, as though they weren’t sneaking through the halls covered only by a thin, filmy layer of Invisibility Cloak.

~Oh, him? He’s most probably dead. You’ll want to head up these stairs, by the way,~ Tom said, and Harry obediently turned up the stairs that he’d been about to pass. ~I can’t imagine that having Voldemort extracted from the back of his head did anything less than kill him.~

~That’s awful!~ Harry exclaimed. ~Why... never mind. Because you’re the Dark Lord, that’s why.~ Harry rolled his eyes, then continued down the corridor that he’d never seen before. Eventually, he found himself face to face with a portrait of Barnabus the Barmy, and he stopped and stared at it. ~Found the portrait,~ Harry announced, rather triumphant. ~Now what?~

~Now, this is going to sound odd so please don’t think that I’m mocking you, you need to walk the length of the hall three times thinking very strongly that you need to find the room where things are hidden.~ Tom snickered a bit as he said it, and Harry frowned.

~How am I supposed to take you seriously if you’re snickering as you ask me to do something?~ he asked, even as he started to do it.

Tom didn’t respond; Harry presumed it was because he wanted Harry to be concentrating on needing the room where things were hidden. Because that was a mouthful, really, for him to be concentrating on.

Just when Harry thought that Tom was, in fact, pulling his leg, a door materialized on the wall across from the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy. ~Huh, you weren’t just messing with me,~ Harry muttered. ~Do I just go through the door?~

~Yes, Harry, you just go through the door. Just what did you think you were supposed to do with it? Look at it?~ Tom sneered.

~Having walked through so very many magical doors in my life, it really surprises you that I want some clarification on my goals here?~ Harry pointed out, even as he stepped through the door.

And into chaos. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, staring at the crowded, cluttered room. There was all sorts of old junk in there. Old and broken furniture littered the floor, cracked potions bottles settled on shelves that leaned to the left or the right, old school books torn in half scattered throughout the room. It was a haphazard pile of junk was what it was. “There’s something of worth in here?” Harry asked, dubious.

~There’s something of quite a lot of worth in here. Or rather, there is something in here that would have been of worth had I not defiled it in my misspent youth. As it stands, it’s still valuable, just a touch more dangerous than perhaps it would have been.~

Harry grew suspicious. ~Is this another piece of your soul that you just left lying about? Because I’ve already told you what I thought of that idea,~ Harry said rather disapprovingly.

~And I’ve already told you that, if I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t do it again. It was a mistake; I absolutely agree. But what’s done is done. There isn’t anything I can do to change what I did in the past,~ Tom murmured. ~Time Turners aren’t made to be used like that.~

~I know that you can’t go back and change it,~ Harry grumbled, exasperated. They’d had this conversation when Harry had first learned of the horcruxes, and Harry knew that there was nothing to be done to change the past. It was the past, it couldn’t be changed. All he wanted was for Tom to acknowledge that he’d been wrong to split his soul in the first place. Which Tom had. Therefore, there was nothing more for them to argue about.

~Then why in Merlin’s name are we still having this discussion?~ Tom exploded.

~Because you haven’t told me where to find the diadem, yet?~ Harry suggested, sounding as cute as he could.

~You.. argh!~ Tom shouted, then settled in. ~You’ll find the diadem in a trunk, just under the statue right over there,~ Tom said. Harry had the disconcerting feeling of Tom nodding his head in a certain direction, even though Tom wasn’t in control of his body. It was a dizzying feeling, and Harry shook it off rapidly.

When he found the item in question, Harry was distinctly unimpressed. “Are you kidding me?” he asked aloud of the dented and tarnished piece of metal. It wasn’t as though there was anybody in the room with them to hear him anyway.

~That object is priceless, Mr. Potter. It was said to increase the wearer’s wisdom, and was created by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. It was lost for centuries before I charmed the secrets out of Ravenclaw’s own house ghost, who happens to be Rowena’s daughter, the Grey Lady,~ Tom said, sounding insufferably smug.

Harry rolled his eyes. ~That’s nice,~ he sent back, and picked the thing up gingerly with dragon-hide gloves covering his hands. He placed it in the case Voldemort had apparently designed specially for the diadem as it fit in the snugly in the velvet within, closed and latched the case, then slipped the case into the small bag covered in protective charms that Voldemort, again, must have designed specifically for the task.

~So, one down. Now we just have to go drop it off in the Chamber of Secrets, which sounds terribly ominous I might add, and then we figure out our targets for the year, and then, maybe tomorrow or sometime soon, we check the warding on the Headmaster’s office?~ Harry had been feeling accomplished with managing to get the diadem on the first night, but as his list got longer once he’d begun, his enthusiasm waned. Still so much to do, and there were Quidditch tryouts to worry about, and school. He had no doubt that Professor Snape’s warning about letting Tom do his work for him still stood.

~I had a thought about choosing our victims,~ Tom answered. ~Step back out of the room, and we’ll try an experiment.~

“Because that doesn’t sound at all ominous,” Harry muttered, but did as he was asked. He drew his Cloak around himself once more, stepped out of the room, then waited for further instruction.

~Now, we’ll do the same exact steps to get into the room,~ Tom began once the door had faded back into the wall, ~but this time you’re going to think of needing to know which students in the school are Muggle-born. What do you think?~

~I think it’s as good a way as any to find out which ones are which,~ Harry answered immediately. It was the best way they’d thought of yet, at least. The only other thing that Harry had been able to think of was breaking into the Headmaster’s office and taking a look at the Book while they were looking for the parseltongue book that Voldemort wanted. That was an unappealing option for two reasons: first, that would have meant that they would need to sneak in far earlier than they were planning to try; second, that would give them a far smaller chance of getting in and out without being caught. Looking through the Book would mean staying in the office for far longer. If this worked, it would be an infinitely more appealing option.

It worked, thankfully. When Harry opened the door to the Room of Requirement the second time, it opened to a mostly empty large room with a single pedestal in the middle. On that pedestal was a large and dusty old book that, when Harry approached it, flipped itself open to somewhere near the middle. Harry stepped forward and smiled.

It was a copy of Hogwarts’ own attendance book, the same one that Harry would have used had he snuck into the Headmaster’s office to do this very thing. It listed the names of every student currently enrolled within Hogwarts, as well as, in the margins, whether they were Muggle-born, half-blooded, or pure-blooded.

“So,” Harry said. “Any preference on which five Muggle-born students we petrify this year? Because I don’t think I know any of them.” Harry studied the list and realized that, no, he really didn’t know any of them. Which was likely a good thing, because that meant this should be very difficult to connect to himself. And, of course, it meant that he would feel infinitely less guilty about petrifying strangers.

~Unless, of course, you’re already suspected of wrongdoing. Which you are, by the Headmaster. So we might, in the end, have to ensure that somebody takes the fall for this,~ Tom pointed out. When Harry scowled at the thought of framing an innocent person, Tom added, ~But we’ll see. It might not be that necessary.~

~I hope it isn’t. But seriously, any idea on who we should go for?~ Harry asked, plaintively. He didn’t know who any of these people were, so which ones should he take on? None of them meant anything to him.

~We should start with... hmm... the name Hermione Granger rings a bell. I think we have Potions with her. She’s as good a place as any to start,~ Tom suggested.

Harry nodded, and made a mental note. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to write any of this down, but he would be sure to remember. And if, for whatever reason, he forgot who they were choosing, he was almost certain that Tom would remind him.

ooOOooOOoo

In the end, their list was rather simple to make. Tom suggested they just choose a random person from a different year at Hogwarts. They wound up with Hermione Granger as the first victim; Serena Powell, a third-year Hufflepuff, as the second; Martin Anderson, a fourth-year Gryffindor, as the third; Anna Traegar, a fifth-year Slytherin, as the fourth; and Garrett Farland, a sixth year Ravenclaw, as their fifth and final victim. Harry just hoped that they could pull it off.

~We will. By the way, you’ll want to duck into that lavatory there if you want to go to the Chamber tonight,~ Tom suggested.

Harry did what he’d been asked to do, then froze. He studied the lavatory suspiciously then asked, ~Tom, is this a girl’s lavatory?~

~I... I am not answering that question,~ Tom shot back. The embarrassment coloring his voice and bleeding over into Harry’s own emotions was enough to answer the question.

Harry could feel his cheeks heating, and he fought the urge to flee the bathroom. ~Tom?~ Harry asked weakly.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked, sounding as though he already knew the question that Harry was going to ask. Knowing Tom, he probably did.

~What were you doing in a girl’s lavatory that you discovered the Chamber of Secrets?~ Harry asked, innocently.

Tom growled at him and said, ~If you would like to quit making fun of me, your next move is to find the tap with the snake engraved upon it. And no, since you were just making fun of me, I won’t tell you which one that is,~ he said sulkily.

Harry rolled his eyes. ~Whatever, Tom,~ he sang back. It wasn’t like this would be a difficult task to complete, after all. It only took him a moment, and then he was staring at the snake on the tap. ~What now?~

~Now? Now you simply command the tap to open,~ Tom answered. Harry could hear the laughter in his voice and it made him cringe.

~This is going to squirt water out at me or something, isn’t it?~ he asked warily, even as he followed Tom’s instructions. If it was, he might as well get it over with.

~No, not at all,~ Tom said cheerfully. Sure enough, the sink simply moved into the wall, revealing a dark and gloomy looking opening.

“Who’s there?” came a girl’s voice, sounding frightened. Harry froze. “Who is that?” the girl asked once more, and Harry fought not to react as the ghost of a young girl floated through one of the stall doors. When she didn’t see anybody, the ghost went back into her stall and began to cry softly.

~Ahh, Myrtle,~ Tom said fondly. ~My very first victim. Even if she was an accident.~ The Dark Lord let out a small sigh of wistful remembrance.

~Are you waxing nostalgic over a murder victim?~ Harry asked, incredulous. ~An accidental one at that, even.~

~I’m not going to answer that. You wouldn’t be asking if you hadn’t felt it, anyway,~ Tom muttered. ~Are you ready to see one of Hogwarts’ greatest mysteries, or not?~ the spirit added, a bit peevishly.

~Oh, don’t you be cranky with me,~ Harry shot back. ~I’m not the idiot who attacked a baby based on the word of some Seer and got myself trapped in the body of the child in question. And yes, fine, I’m ready. Let’s do this.~

~All you have to do is step forward into that dark entrance,~ Tom said quietly, calmly, as though Harry hadn’t just been poking fun at him. ~And make sure that you concentrate on the fact that there’s a sort of elevator there, or you’ll just fall straight through. It’s like the entrance to the Platform on the way to Hogwarts; if you believe it isn’t there, you won’t be able to get through.~

~Okay,~ Harry said. He concentrated very hard on stepping on something solid, took a single step into the entrance to the chamber, and fell straight through.

He shrieked rather in a rather undignified manner for several moments as he fell until he landed in a disgusting pile of things he would rather not know about. “You... you...” he sputtered incoherently.

Tom was howling with laughter in his head. ~You fell for it, you silly little child! Oh, you’re just the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, do you know that?~

Harry could feel Tom’s amusement and Harry was entirely unamused by it. He stood up and brushed off his robes, then stalked off down the corridor in the only direction he could. “Just you wait; I will find a way to get you back for this.”

~Harry, I’m a spirit trapped within your head. What in the world could you possibly do to me?~ Tom asked, still chuckling.

“Make sure that my Quidditch game are played as roughly and wildly as possible when I make it onto the team,” Harry said promptly.

Tom abruptly stopped laughing. ~Harry, I do get motion sickness you know,~ the spirit said warningly. ~I can make it very difficult for you to focus on finding the Snitch, assuming you make it onto the team as Seeker.~

“It’s adorable that you think there’s any chance of me not making the team,” Harry said cheerfully, not acknowledging the threat of motion sickness. “By the way, what exactly is down here that’s going to petrify students?”

~A basilisk.~

Harry froze at Tom’s succinct answer. “A... a basilisk?” he asked uncertainly. He stared warily into the cavern he’d just entered, wondering if a basilisk was going to leap out at him the moment he blinked. There were certainly quite a few possible places for a basilisk to hide in.

~Mmm, yes, Saliss is a basilisk. He’s really quite friendly, so long as you don’t actually do anything to antagonize him. Like most snakes, he can be quite testy. The only difference between him and regular snakes being, of course, that he can kill you within seconds.~

“Tom, you didn’t think that maybe I needed to know about this before coming down here? So that I could, oh, I don’t know, maybe be prepared?” Harry asked. He could feel himself becoming more and more irritated, and fought it down. Unfortunately, the irritation was a good distraction from his fear, so he stopped trying to get rid of it.

~Why? He’s quite harmless, really. And he isn’t even out right now. You don’t necessarily have to go introduce yourself tonight if you don’t want to,~ Tom said. ~Let’s just leave the diadem down here, and head back to the dormitory. It’s getting late, anyway.~

“And I have classes in the morning,” Harry said, relaxing. Meeting a basilisk? No, no, he really wasn’t up to that right about them.

~You do. And you’re right, that’s something I should have warned you about. Why don’t you set the diadem down right at the foot of that statue there? When you call for him, that’s where Saliss will come from.~

Harry placed the diadem in its protective case at the base of the statue, then retraced his steps back to the hallway he’d come from. He made it back to the end of the hallway, then stared in consternation at the speck of light hundreds of feet above him.

“Tom,” he asked after several moments of consideration, “just how do you intend for me to get back up there?”

And Tom, the sneaky little bastard, started to laugh once more.

ooOOooOOoo

In the end, it took Harry a little over an hour to make his way back to the dormitory that night. Tom had, apparently, genuinely forgotten the way out of the Chamber and Harry had to let him take over while he tried various and assorted parseltongue passwords. It took the better part of forty-five minutes, until finally a sort of invisible elevator, just like the one Tom had said would be there in the first place, began to float Harry up the piping.

After that it should have only been a matter of returning to the dormitory and getting some sleep. Unfortunately, the ghost that had been there earlier had apparently been freaking out, and had overflowed the toilets badly enough that Filch was outside the bathroom sponging up the mess. Fortunately, he’d been almost done and Harry was able to slip out when the grumbling caretaker left the area. After that, he’d nearly knocked down Professor McGonagall, who was no doubt finally making her way to her rooms from her office, though what she’d been doing there so late at night was anybody’s guess.

When Harry did finally make it back to the dorms, he was ready for the night to be over. He was tired, he was cranky, and he knew that eight o’clock in the morning was going to come very early, considering that it was now past one. So he crept up to his dormitory, stashed his Cloak back in his trunk, and crawled into his bed.

“So, Harry, what were you up to this evening?” Draco asked quietly.

Harry froze. What should he tell him? The options were endless. Finally, he settled on the truth. “I was finding the Chamber of Secrets,” he murmured. When there was no reaction from the slumbering boys around him, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought of the fact that one of the others might still be awake until he’d already begun to say the name.

~Idiot child,~ Tom said, but it was spoken fondly. ~I could have Obliviated them if the need had arisen,~ Tom added thoughtfully, ~so it wouldn’t have been a total disaster.~

“The Cha... you found it? And what were you doing down there?” Draco breathed, surprised.

~Tom, is it safe to talk about these things in the dorms?~ Harry asked, suddenly alarmed. If the Headmaster had a way to spy on them while they were in the dormitories, then he should be very careful about what he said. If the Headmaster could spy on them, in fact, he’d already said far too much.

~It’s fine. If you’d bothered to read Hogwarts: A History like I’d recommended, you would know that there are wards that not even the Headmaster can counteract within the dormitories to keep Professors from invading their students privacy.~

Harry let out a small breath of relief. “There’s a basilisk down there, apparently. I’m fulfilling a task from our Lord,” Harry murmured.

“You... what sort of task are you completing with a basilisk?” Draco whispered back, sounding overawed at the thought.

“I... he has plans, that he doesn’t want the Headmaster to be focusing on. So I’m to keep him occupied by petrifying five students over the course of the year. I’ve already got my five chosen; I figure I’ll take the first one either at Halloween or a little before.” Harry felt uncomfortable discussing this much around the sleeping boys in the dormitory, but they were all asleep. And Tom was right; they could Obliviate anybody who became a problem.

“That sounds... like fun,” Draco whispered, and then he yawned. “Now that you’re back, though, I need to sleep for classes tomorrow. Let me know if you need help?” he offered sleepily.

“Absolutely,” Harry promised. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face. Draco was the best friend he’d ever had. Who else would offer to help him petrify students?

ooOOooOOoo

Ron waited until Harry and Draco had been silent for several moments before he got up to use the bathroom. He’d overheard... what Harry was going to do was...

He should go to the Headmaster. He should tell the Headmaster exactly what Harry was going to do, what Harry had said about ‘his Lord’, he should... he should...

He made it all the way to the entrance to the common room before he turned and made his way back to the dorms. He couldn’t do it. Harry and Draco were his friends. Sure, he felt bad for the students Harry was going to target, but he couldn’t... he couldn’t sacrifice the only two people that actually cared about him for kids that he didn’t even really know.

After all, it wasn’t like his own parents cared about him any longer. And Dumbledore certainly didn’t. So why should he help them?

No, Ron would keep his mouth shut. And if Harry wound up needing it, he would gladly offer Harry his help. Because Harry was his friend, and he knew Harry well enough to know that if it ever came up, Harry would not just throw him away like a lamb to the slaughter. Harry had more honor than that.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

As Harry had suspected, class with Lockhart was a joke. He’d known it would be. One had only to look at the smarmy blonde little git to know how ridiculous any class of his would be. He’d almost been expecting the entirely unrelated to Defense test on the ridiculous books that the entire school had been assigned to purchase.

What sort of person, other than an entirely too narcissistic bastard, would demand that his entire bibliography of books be purchased for just one year of schooling? Of course there would be some stupid test on the bastard’s likes and dislikes, and Harry made sure to write his answers down in the most insulting manner possible. Some, so long as he could score a nice insult with it, he deliberately answered wrong. After all, this class wouldn’t actually start to matter until he took his OWLs, and he already knew most of it anyway.

But one thing did manage to shock Harry during the class. The pixies. Harry hadn’t counted on them and could never have dreamed them up in his worst nightmares. Of all the things to set loose on a group of second year students, Lockhart had chosen pixies? They were tiny little things, and mildly annoying, but Harry wouldn’t have classified them as a particularly Dark Art that they needed defending against. If anything, they were more of a pest.

And, judging by the way that Tom had snickered when he’d seen what the bloody git had decided to demonstrate for the first class, Tom agreed. ~Oh, Harry, you should absolutely let me out,~ Tom begged. ~I’ll protect the class from the deadly dangers of pixies,~ he added, but spoiled it by cackling in the middle.

~Yeah, somehow I’m thinking not,~ Harry shot back. Tom, fighting pixies? No, Harry really didn’t want pixie guts all over his new robes. And Draco would be horrified.

Of course, that was before the smarmy blonde bastard decided to let the things out among the students. Then everything changed, and Tom rapidly had to keep Harry from losing his temper and just cursing the little buggers into oblivion. Because Harry could. He knew proper Dark magic for that sort of thing. That he shouldn’t be showing that off while still a student at Hogwarts was another matter entirely. And suddenly pixie guts everywhere sounded absolutely amazing.

In the end, to avoid blowing up the nasty little shits that were currently wreaking havoc in the room, Harry was forced to follow the lead of his classmates and duck under the desks, where he and Ron and Draco shared pained looks. This was going to be a ridiculous year; he could already tell.

“Don’t worry, class, I’ve got this well in hand!” Professor Lockhart called as they all cowered under their desks. “ _Peskipiski Pesternomi!_ ” the obnoxious twit shouted. Then they could all hear him start shrieking in surprise. Even Pansy, who had begun the class so admiring of Lockhart and was now under the table just next to their own so Harry could get a clear glimpse of her face, looked entirely disgusted with herself for falling for the smarmy blonde’s charisma.

“Witness my surprise,” Harry muttered, as the spell proceeded to do a whole lot of nothing against the sneaky little buggers that were currently streaking about the room.

Ron snorted, then asked, “But how are we going to get out of here? I don’t think that Professor Snape will let us off for being late and take pixies as an excuse.”

“Watch and learn, Ron,” Draco said, and there was just a hint of fondness in his voice that made Harry smile. He’d known that Draco was growing fond of Ron, but to hear it like that just made Harry happy in a way he simply couldn’t explain.

“ _Immobulus!_ ” Draco shouted, waving his wand with a peculiar flick and swish. The pixies froze in midair and then dropped to the ground with several small thumps as their bodies hit the floor.

It wasn’t nearly as entertaining as blowing the little snots to smithereens, and Harry supposed that was why he hadn’t thought of it himself. ~You’re a bad influence on me, Tom,~ Harry said fondly.

~What? You can’t blame that on me! I didn’t even do anything!~ Tom protested, still chortling with laughter. It warmed Harry’s heart to hear the Dark Lord so amused, and sort of made him hope that he’d be able to manage the same for the walking, talking, breathing version of the Dark Lord.

Professor Lockhart dusted off his robes and regained his footing, trying for all the world to look as though the pixies hadn’t just had him up in the air by his robes. “Well done, Mr. Malfoy,” the Professor said cheerfully. “Of course I knew the way to stop the little cretins, I was just testing to see if any of you did. Well, go on, gather your things! I wouldn’t want any of you to be late for your next class!” the Professor chirped.

As he stood up to gather his things, Harry couldn’t help but wonder just how long Lockhart would last before somebody fed him to his devilish little pixies. Or, wonder if he could maybe feed the Professor to the basilisk. ~Tom?~ he asked hopefully.

~I won’t deny that the idea has merit, but I would imagine that my embodied self might have an issue with it. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask him, though, would it?~ Tom mused.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the image of dear Professor Lockhart being crunched in half by a fifty foot basilisk. The image, which should have been gross, was oddly appealing.

ooOOooOOoo

It wasn’t often that Harry was nervous. But here he stood, surrounded by others just as nervous as he was, waiting for the tryouts to begin. It was a unique experience, being surrounded by other people and being every bit as nervous as they were. Tom generally helped him to keep his head, but now Tom was too busy laughing at him to do so.

~You know, you could be more helpful than this,~ Harry pointed out, trying manfully not to scowl. Although he’d acquired something of a reputation over the previous school year as one who stared off into space and scowled at nothing, he didn’t necessarily want that reputation to stick. It wasn’t the most impressive reputation to be stuck with, after all. Although there certainly was something to be said for being thought of as mad as a hatter. One had only to look towards the Lovegood family for a perfect example.

~Oh, yes, I could absolutely be more helpful than this with my incredibly elite flying skills,~ Tom muttered. He had seemed less than impressed with the very idea of Harry taking on a spot on the Quidditch team before tryouts, the matter had in fact caused one of their first real fights; now he seemed positively disdainful.

It might have something to do with his own lack of flying ability, something which Harry didn’t hesitate to tell the Dark Lord in question. Tom fell absolutely silent after Harry pointed that out, so much so that Harry could no longer feel any emotion from him at all. He refrained from giving himself a mental point in an effort to spare Tom his dignity. What little of it remained, that was to say.

Fortunately, the Chasers were finishing their tryouts, which mean that it would shortly be Harry’s turn. Which meant that ideally he could stop being nervous once he was up in the air. He was up against three others, none of whom were on the current team. None of whom he’d ever seen fly, either, so he couldn’t say how well he’d do when up against them. But Ron had already secured a spot as reserve Keeper and from the way that Draco had flown, Harry was almost positive that he’d get a spot on the team as well. Which meant that if Harry didn’t manage to secure a spot, he’d be the only member of their group that didn’t. It would be an embarrassment.

“You’ll do fine,” Ron said suddenly, exasperatedly. Harry turned to him, frowning, and Ron continued with, “Seriously, I can hear you knotting yourself up over this. You don’t have to; you’ll do the best out of all of these other guys.” He seemed entirely unbothered by the dirty looks from the three others trying out for the team.

“Of course I’ll do fine. I’m more concerned with Professor Snape’s homework assignment,” Harry said with a forced cheer that he definitely didn’t feel. “Two feet on the properties of ashwinder eggs? I don’t know where I’m going to pull that from!”

“Oh, don’t you give me that shite! You and Draco probably both already have the assignment done! Me, on the other hand, I’m not some kind of potions master in the making, so I’ve got no idea what I’m going to write for that bloody paper.” Ron was scowling at the reminder, and Harry couldn’t help but smile, and this time he even meant it.

“You forgot all about it, didn’t you?” he asked, his grin widening. “And we just got the assignment earlier today, Ron! We should get you a planner or something.”

“He would have to remember to write the assignment in question down for that to do any good,” Draco shot back, startling both Harry and Ron, who hadn’t realized he’d landed. “I made the team, not that you two hooligans care,” he added with a haughty sniff.

Harry’s grin broadened. “That’s great!” he exclaimed. He flung his arms around Draco before he could think about it.

~Harry!~ Tom protested. He didn’t need to explain the breach in pure-blood etiquette. Harry knew enough to know that hugging in public was generally frowned upon.

~Oops?~ Harry asked sheepishly. Draco was stiff and unresponsive in his arms, and Harry pulled away rather hastily with a muttered, “Sorry.” ~At least it should reinforce the idea that I don’t know all that much about pure-blooded customs,~ Harry added to Tom, though he knew better than to try and pass that off as intentional. It definitely hadn’t been.

But Draco said nothing in response, and Harry felt a moment’s apprehension that he’d done something else unforgivable, on top of knowing about Lucius and wanting to murder the man for what he put Draco through.

“How come I didn’t get a hug when I made the team?” Ron protested, though when Harry darted a glance at the redhead he seemed more amused than offended.

“Because you didn’t actually make the team, you just made reserve,” Draco answered coolly. “And don’t worry about it, Harry, just don’t make a habit of it.” Despite his dismissive words, Harry could see that Draco was less than comfortable with the thought of Harry hugging him.

Fortunately, Seekers were called next. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and thanked Merlin that he could escape from the awkward situation at hand, and take to the air. He mounted his birthday present from Draco, a Nimbus 2001, and took off with the rest of the Seekers. The tryout was simple enough. Whoever caught the Snitch first would have the best chance at joining the team. If one of the other potential Seekers was a better flyer, though, that would be taken into account. Harry supposed that it could be the case that one of the other students was a better flyer than himself but, well, he didn’t think that was going to be the case.

~Careful, child. Arrogance is the downfall of many a man,~ Tom warned.

Harry fought down a sudden, sharp laugh. ~Oh, yeah, that’s great. You lecturing me on arrogance.~

As he bickered somewhat good-naturedly with the spirit inside his mind, Harry constantly scanned the skies for the flash of gold that would indicate the Snitch. There was a flash of something, just out of the corner of his eye, but it wasn’t quite the right shade. He turned his head just in case, and saw something again, not quite right, down near the ground.

One of the other competitors, one Marius Farsein, was not so intelligent. He flung himself rather recklessly after the not-quite-a-Snitch in desperation, and wound up crashing into the ground at a rather swift speed. Harry cringed because even from his rather lofty height, he could hear the boy’s bones snapping.

Tom cringed within his mind as well. ~And you wonder why it is that I don’t like Quidditch,~ the spirit grumbled.

Harry ignored the voice, then scowled as a flash of metal caught his gaze. Metal that was distinctly iron in color, rather than the gold of the Snitch. ~They didn’t warn us that they were going to release the Bludgers,~ he complained, and ducked as one came barrelling towards him. He could hear the two remaining competitors crying foul over the move, but Harry didn’t have time to protest the unexpected twist.

He’d spotted the Snitch. It was a small flash of gold just behind the team captain, Marcus Flint. Harry started moving towards it, trying to look as casual as he could. When a Bludger streaked towards him, Harry was forced to duck into a dive, alerting the other two Seekers above him to his movements.

One of the other two competitors was not quite lucky enough to dodge the Bludger that Harry had left in his wake, and as such was knocked from her broom at a rather alarming height. Harry winced in sympathy, but then the Snitch darted right into his hand and he pulled up just inches before his broom would have lodged itself in the ground, and a mere second away beforebarrelling the Captain over.

“Sorry,” he offered to the startled Captain, and held out the Snitch.

When Flint recovered enough from the surprise of having one of the competitors stop less than an inch away from him, he said immediately, “Practices are on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday mornings. You report for each and every one or we kick you off the team.”

Later, after dinner while they were sitting in their dorm room studying on their beds, Ron said quietly, “That was a really dangerous move, Harry.”

“Was it?” Harry asked, not particularly interested. He’d known he could pull it off. He was good at flying, even Tom thought so. When Tom wasn’t busy getting motion sickness, that was to say.

“Wronski feints are particularly dangerous. What if you hadn’t pulled up in time?” Draco asked, sounding as though he agreed with Ron. This was rare enough that Harry felt almost obligated to actually listen to what they were saying, no matter how little he agreed with it.

“But I did pull up in time,” Harry protested. He hadn’t even realized there was a name for the maneuver he’d used during the tryout. Perhaps he should look into investing in a Quidditch strategy book if he were planning on taking the game seriously?

“But if you hadn’t you might’ve injured both yourself and Flint,” Ron said patiently. “It’s not that the move was a bad idea; it wasn’t, it got you on the team after all. But we’re just saying that maybe you should be a little bit more careful when you’re haring off after the Snitch.”

Harry let out a small sigh and hauled Minerva onto his lap. “I guess I can see your point,” he muttered as he nervously began to fiddle with her fur. Ron was right, of course. The move he’d pulled had been a dangerous one, but it had worked, hadn’t it? And it wasn’t like he’d taken the time to think about it. He’d seen the Snitch and gone after it, and he’d gotten it, hadn’t he?

~But that’s what Ron is saying. And for the record, I agree with the Weasley boy. If you want to play this game, if you want to not knock yourself into a coma and disappoint my living self, then you need to make sure you’re a bit more careful when you’re playing,~ Tom murmured gently to him. Then, in a quiet aside that he probably hadn’t intended for Harry to hear, ~Merlin, what is the world coming to when I’m agreeing with a Weasley of all people?~

Harry couldn’t help but feel like a little child being chastised by an adult for something stupid. He especially didn’t like that Ron and Draco both agreed with the spirit in his head. So, like the child that he could sometimes be, Harry closed the curtains on his bed and pretended like none of them existed until he fell asleep, still clutching at Minerva, who was kind enough to allow it.

ooOOooOOoo

The next day was a Sunday, and Harry made sure to be up and out of the room before either Ron or Draco had normally even begun to dream their last dream. He didn’t want to rehash the conversation that they’d had last night, not that he thought they were going to be particularly annoying about it. It was just better to avoid the matter entirely.

He ate a quick breakfast and hung around the Great Hall until he spotted one Hermione Granger, target number one. She was thin and had bushy hair and buck teeth that made Harry wince. She’d have been torn apart within Slytherin, and not just for the state of her blood. In Gryffindor, from what he knew of the other student, she was mostly ignored. Well, she wouldn’t be after Harry was through with her. Everyone in the school would most likely know her name. Of course, she wouldn’t be conscious for it.

He left the Great Hall, pulled his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket, and slipped it on. When another group of students entered the Great Hall once more, Harry slipped in behind them and walked over to observe the girl in question. If he wanted to catch her with the basilisk, and hopefully have nobody else see the snake, he would have to get her alone. Which mean that he would need her routine down.

~Please, Harry, a girl like this? She’ll spend all of her time in the library. The best time to catch her will undoubtedly be during her walk to or from the library early in the morning or late at night.~

~Yes,~ Harry agreed patiently, ~But what time do those things occur? We know now that she gets up even on Sundays at about eight o’clock in the morning, but where does she go from there? What time does she take her lunch break? Does she even eat lunch, or does she study through? These are things that I need to know before I can sick Saliss on her.~

~Well if you’re going to be all formal about it...~ Tom trailed off and they watched Hermione eat in silence for a moment or two. Then, quietly, ~I’m sorry for nagging you last night,~ Tom murmured. ~I just... Draco and Ron were right, and you were so very cavalier at the thought that you could have seriously been injured that I couldn’t keep silent. Perhaps I should have been a bit kinder about what I had to say, but you... you’re too young to be getting yourself injured permanently in a Quidditch accident. Or, you know, killed.~

Harry let out a soundless sigh. ~I know, Tom,~ he said quietly. ~I agree. You’re right. We don’t need to keep talking about it.~ He fought down his remaining irritation on the matter. Tom was right. Harry knew that to be the case. It didn’t matter how much he resented the facts; they were still the facts and he couldn’t change them. He’d been needlessly reckless.

~Sorry,~ Tom muttered, sounding offended. ~You know that we’re just concerned about you,~ Tom added after a moment of silence. By now Hermione had finished her toast and moved on to sipping at her drink, whatever it was. Harry wasn’t really all that interested in what the girl was drinking.

~Concerned about what?~ Harry exploded. ~I’ve been flying for almost a full year now, what’s there to be concerned about? Did you or did you not see the way that I flew circles around Draco over the summer? Did I ever give you the idea that I might even be close to crashing? No. No, I didn’t. And why not? Because I’m a bloody good flyer, that’s why.~ Harry had no idea where all of this anger was coming from, but once he’d given it voice it was like he couldn’t stop. He felt out of control, like a train coming off the tracks, and he didn’t like that feeling at all.

And then the feeling vanished, disappeared as though it had never been, leaving him panting for breath and shaking violently. ~Merlin, Harry, I’m sorry,~ Tom whispered, sounding horrified. Harry could feel his regret, his concern, his horror just like he could feel his own.

~Tell me those weren’t your emotions I was feeling,~ Harry begged, knowing that Tom couldn’t tell him that without lying. ~Merlin, is that how angry you are all the time?~

~It isn’t... it isn’t as bad as it used to be,~ Tom said, apologetic. Harry could feel him settling down a bit, and now that he realized what it was he could feel Tom’s anger simmering just below the surface of the other’s mind. It was an unnerving feeling, to say the least.

~You... god, Tom, what do you have to be so angry about all the time?~ Harry asked. Hermione stood up, then, and left the Great Hall. Harry followed behind her, sure enough, right to the library. Once she’d settled in, he leaned against the wall in an out of the way corner and watched her from a distance.

~I don’t... it’s none of your business what I’m so angry about most of the time,~ Tom shot back, more venomous than Harry thought he’d ever heard from the Dark Lord.

~Because that wasn’t suspicious at all,~ Harry said. Now that Tom’s anger wasn’t influencing him he could see how very irrational he’d been last night and this morning. He’d have to be sure to apologize to both Ron and Draco for his deplorable behavior. ~Seriously, Tom, what’s got you so upset?~

Tom was stubbornly silent. Harry could feel his irritation and anger building, and Harry was growing more and more curious. He probably shouldn’t push the spirit, but...

~Seriously, Tom, what’s got you angry enough to influence my moods unintentionally?~ Harry asked, exasperated. He’d never felt Tom’s rage like that before. Other emotions, sure, but they’d never made him feel them as though they were his own. That was a concerning sort of thing to have had happen.

~I’m dying, Harry! As you so eloquently pointed out to me the other day, I’m dying! Soon enough, probably before your fourth year at Hogwarts if things go the way they’ve been, I’ll cease to exist. My consciousness will merge with your own! And my lover, my Severus, he’s with another version of me and he’s happy and I’m glad that he’s so happy and I’m glad that there’s still going to be a piece of me on this earth but it won’t be me, Harry! It won’t be me. I won’t...~ Tom trailed off into silence.

Harry’s eyes closed in horror. ~Tom, I didn’t... I mean, I-~

~Stop.~ Tom’s voice was quite dead as he said, ~I know what you meant. I don’t really want to talk about it right now, Harry. Why don’t you look into what the Granger girl is researching? It’ll keep our minds off of me... me dying.~

Harry wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. So he did as Tom requested and went over to stand over Hermione’s shoulder, studying her research. He wasn’t sure what he expected. After all, they were just starting the second week of school and none of their teachers had assigned them projects just yet, so he wasn’t entirely certain what it was that she was researching. But he didn’t get what he found.

~Tom?~ Harry asked, after studying the girl’s notes for a few moments. Her quill was moving rapidly, constantly adding new information to her notes, and Harry still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked, sounding just as distracted. Granger was flipping through her books at a speed the likes of which Harry couldn’t come close to topping, seeking out information on what appeared to be the Killing Curse.

~Is she writing a theoretical counter curse for the Killing Curse?~ Harry asked weakly.

~That is indeed what it appears to be,~ Tom said agreeably. ~It won’t work, of course, she’s got a fundamental fact wrong, but that’s still... huh. It still looks closer than I’ve ever seen anyone get before. She might actually have the right idea...~

~Tom?~ Harry asked, staring in fascination at Granger’s quill and her hands flipping rapidly through the books in question.

~Yes, Harry?~ Tom asked patiently.

~I think we need to revisit the idea that Muggleborns are defective just by virtue of their circumstances of birth,~ Harry said bluntly. ~Do you think that maybe we could discuss that with the version of you that’s walking around and assigning me to tasks?~

~I think that if we were going to, we would do well to have that conversation in person where he can’t simply tear up our letter. And where there’s a lot of hard cover, so that he can’t just throw the Killing Curse off at us. Although I don’t think he’ll kill us, what with you carrying a piece of his soul,~ Tom said thoughtfully.

~So maybe I should wait until Christmas break to discuss this with him?~ Harry asked. ~Then maybe I’ll move on to a different victim. Who hopefully won’t be quite as bright as Ms. Granger here.~

~That’s not a bad idea,~ Tom said calmly. ~So, why don’t we go and visit Saliss with our unexpected free time?~ he added, sounding a bit more cheerful at the thought.

And how could Harry deny him? Not after the conversation they’d just had, that was certain. So he headed back to the girl’s bathroom and hoped that it was empty enough for him to open the door to the Chamber of Secrets once more. ~Seriously, there isn’t a second entrance?~ he asked plaintively as he slipped from the library.

Tom laughed at him, the bastard.

ooOOooOOoo

Saliss, as it turned out, wasn’t much of conversationalist. He was more concerned with Harry bringing him food and Harry letting him cause mischief and mayhem among the students sometime within the next century. Once Harry had promised to do so, Saliss was all about the when and the where and the why and the how and the how many to be most precise. Harry was amused, but only briefly. When the conversation started to get old, or more appropriately once he thought he could get away with it, he excused himself with a polite, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got friends to meet for dinner,” before ducking out of the cavern.

~You could have warned me,~ Harry hissed as they rode the invisible elevator back up into Myrtle’s bathroom. ~He’s an absolute bore!~

~Yeah, but watching you suffer cheered me right up,~ Tom shot back, chuckling quietly.

Harry growled wordlessly and sealed the entrance to the Chamber behind him. Myrtle let out a despondent little moan at the sound of his growl, but Harry didn’t actually care all that much. She was a ghost; she should realize that nothing out there could hurt her. That she didn’t was, well, rather pathetic as it happened.

~My, my, somebody’s in a rotten mood,~ Tom murmured as they made their way to the Slytherin common room. Harry hadn’t even been lying to the basilisk; the snake had kept him trapped in conversation for a good seven hours. It had been torture. But it would indeed soon be time for dinner.

~You just had me held hostage by a snake, Tom. And really, people who allow their bad temper to bleed into their innocent host’s mind shouldn’t pick on him for being a little irritable.~

As Harry had suspected, his snarky comment caused Tom to fall entirely silent. Harry continued his trek towards the common room in blissful silence.

Just before entering the common room, Harry slipped into an unused classroom and out of his Invisibility Cloak. The Cloak was then shoved unceremoniously into his bag, and Harry continued on into the common room as though nothing had happened. Which, to everyone’s mind, was indeed the case. Ron and Draco were both sitting in there, quietly studying for one of their classes, but they both stopped and looked up as he entered the room. In tandem, nonetheless.

“Where have you been?” Draco demanded, his voice hot with irritation. “You didn’t wait for us for breakfast and you didn’t even show up for lunch!”

“I had things to take care of,” Harry said nonchalantly, staring into Draco’s eyes. He hoped to communicate that he’d been working on one of his assigned tasks and it must have worked because Draco nodded once, sharply, and settled back into his chair.

Ron, on the other hand, clearly had no idea what Harry was talking about. “You had things to do, did you?” the redhead asked, clearly still angry. “And it has nothing to do with you being such a prat yesterday, right?”

Harry let out a small sigh. “Actually, it sort of did,” Harry confessed, trying as hard as he could to look like a contrite schoolboy. It wasn’t all that hard, considering that he really did regret the way he’d treated both Draco and Ron yesterday.

“Oh,” was Ron’s rather startled response.

“Listen, I really was a prat yesterday. I don’t know what got into me. Can you forgive me?” Harry asked, with all sincerity. “I’m going to do my best not to let it happen again.” And he would. Now that he knew what Tom’s rage, what his fury, what his irritation felt like, Harry was hopeful that he’d be able to block those feelings should they leak in with his own once more. Hopeful, but not certain.

“No, it’s fine,” Ron said dismissively, waving one hand carelessly in the air. “It happens to all of us, I’m sure. I’ve no doubt that I’ll say something to piss you all off at some point this year.” Ron still looked rather uncertain, though, and Harry wondered what the redhead was thinking. It was too bad that Tom refused to teach him the art of legilimency. He claimed that Harry was too young for such knowledge or some such rot.

“Exploding snap, anyone?” Harry offered into the sudden somewhat awkward silence. Ron seized on it, and after a few moments even Draco was coerced into putting his book down and joining the game.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter needs a warning almost, but I'm not sure what to warn for. Perhaps for the creepiness of the relationship between Tom and Severus? Tom is pretty old to be perving on Severus, after all. Anyway, I guess take that as a warning.

In his bed, late at night on a Wednesday evening early still in the school year, Harry tossed and turned and whimpered in his sleep. Tom, concerned, tried to wake the slumbering youth, but found that he could do nothing. He couldn’t get through to Harry at all. Now truly worried, the spirit settled in to wait and see. What more could he do with no body to call his own?

ooOOooOOoo

_The man... no, not a man. The boy was beautiful. Harry didn’t know where the thought came from, but he could agree that it was quite true. It was perhaps not a traditional beauty, the child’s face was too severe for that. His nose was slightly crooked and his hair hung lank and unattended. But his face was mobile, expressive, and lit with joy as he practiced his craft. The boy in question stood at a cauldron in an unidentified potions lab, his robes swirling dramatically about himself as he added ingredients precisely and yet excitedly. He was clearly entirely focused upon his work, his eyes bright with the joy of discovery._

_“You see, my Lord? Did I not tell you that he was brilliant?” an oily voice asked, and Harry recoiled from the sight of a much younger Lucius Malfoy. He, too, was watching the boy at the cauldron, his gaze every bit as hungry as Harry’s... no, it wasn’t Harry’s, but Tom’s... as Tom’s gaze had been._

_Tom felt an instant flare of jealousy that Harry could feel quite clearly, unnervingly so. “You will not touch him,” he commanded immediately. “He will be my own.”_

_Harry knew that Tom had only just seen the boy for the first time, and Harry realized with a start that this boy must be a very young Professor Snape. He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, perhaps a bit older than that, but certainly not old enough for Tom to have such an interest in him. It was... it was criminal. But then, Harry supposed that a murdering Dark Lord probably didn’t care all that much about having criminal interests._

_“Of course he will, my Lord,” Lucius answered smoothly, with a low bow. “This is why I wished to present him to you. Is he not lovely? And a true genius, as well.”_

_Professor Snape had stopped brewing now, and was watching them both through a curtain of black hair. His entire stance screamed ‘wariness’, and there was a tension that implied a readiness to flee at a moment’s notice. When neither of them addressed him, he turned off the heat on his cauldron and began to pour the silvery potion into clear glass vials with an expert hand._

_“Leave us,” Tom commanded abruptly, and Lucius bowed once more and left the room. “Severus Snape,” Tom murmured, and stepped forward._

_Harry could tell that the boy was nervous because his hands were shaking. Some of the hot potion spilled onto his hands and Professor Snape dropped the vial he was holding with a startled little noise of pain. It shattered on the ground, and the Professor froze and stared at the Dark Lord as though expecting to be killed for such a mistake._

_“You should be more careful,” Tom chastised. He stepped over the mess and took the Professor’s hand in his own. He gently wiped the hand clean, then raised it to his lips and kissed the burnt bit of flesh. “Your skin is far too perfect to be marred by burns.”_

_Professor Snape... no, Severus flushed violently. “My skin is hardly perfect, sir,” he protested, though he did not remove his hand from the Dark Lord’s gentle grasp. He then looked quite horrified at the thought of arguing with the Dark Lord. Harry could read the thought in his eyes, how had he dared?_

_“Please, dear one, call me Tom,” the Dark Lord murmured. He pressed a kiss to that sinfully perfect hand once more, then drew back. “I’d like to offer you a proposition for you to think on, Severus Snape,” he said, and the world swirled into nothing on the hopeful look on the Professor’s face as well as the feelings of need and want and lust and possessiveness from Tom._

_When the world stabilized once more, it was raining and the sky was dark with thunderclouds. Severus stood before him, strong and brave and broken. “Won’t you join me?” Harry asked, but it wasn’t his voice that came out. It was Tom’s. He wasn’t used to this yet, even after the last scene._

_“My... Tom, I...” Severus bowed his head and looked away. “You call for such extreme measures, I can’t... I don’t... but I...”_

_“I understand. You love me, but you don’t necessarily agree with everything that I aim for,” Harry/Tom murmured, and their hand moved to touch Severus’s cheek. It was wet, and not just with rainwater. Harry didn’t know how he knew it, but he knew that Severus was crying._

_“Lily Evans is a Muggle-born, and she and I were friends,” Severus whispered. “They aren’t all bad.” But Severus was leaning into the touch, his hand coming up to cling to Tom’s own. Harry’s own. Harry was a little lost with this. ~Tom?~ he asked hesitantly, but heard only silence. He wasn’t surprised. He was relatively certain that he was trapped in the first of the visions._

_“Of course the Muggle-born aren’t to be faulted for their blood,” Tom whispered, stepping even closer. “But it’s the Muggles that raise them that we should hate. Look at what happened to your dear mother. Your father, the monster, murdered her and still the abomination walks free.”_

_“Don’t tell me what I already know!” Severus shouted, then looked up, eyes wide with horror. “Please, Tom, I didn’t mean,” he stammered, eyes wild with grief._

_“Of course you didn’t,” Tom soothed. “I know what you meant. You’re distraught. You cannot possibly make this choice now. But come home with me, at least, let me take care of you tonight.” Harry could feel within the Dark Lord the need to protect, to soothe, to comfort, and realized that this relationship had to be what had enabled Tom to feel empathy towards him at all._

_When Severus nodded, the scene blurred and shifted and changed, until Harry/Tom were curled protectively around Severus’s naked form, stroking his hair soothingly. The Professor couldn’t be more than sixteen, and Harry was a little grossed out. This was his teacher! He wasn’t meant to be seeing this nonsense. Not to mention, Ton was what? Fifty in this memory? That was... that was creepy. And illegal in the Muggle world at least. He wasn’t sure about the wizarding law. Not that Tom had ever cared about wizarding law._

_“You promise that we aren’t actually going to go for the Muggle-borns?” Severus asked, his voice so young and so very haunted. He was clinging rather desperately to Tom, his whole body was trembling against their own. Harry wrinkled his nose at the feeling. Seriously, the man was his professor. He didn’t want to remember this the next time he went to Potions class! Even if it was painfully sweet. If it hadn’t been such an obviously private and tender memory, Harry would have been tempted to use it as ammo against Tom the next time the ex-Dark Lord was being uppity._

_“I promise that we won’t for long. But there will have to be some element of that in order to keep the pure-bloods on board, at least in the beginning.” Tom’s voice was low, apologetic, and he pressed a warm, gentle kiss to Severus’ bowed head. “I’m sorry that it will be necessary, but I can’t see any other way to get the financial backing that we need.” Harry was a little sickened, because he could feel the lie in Tom’s statement. He had no intention of backing off on the Muggle-born issue, and was determined that he could convince Severus to see things his way._

_“I suppose I don’t have a choice, then,” Severus whispered, and pressed a soft kiss to Tom’s neck. “Promise me that you’ll take care of me? That you won’t leave me?”_

_“Of course, my Severus,” Tom murmured. “You cannot begin to know the measures I’ve taken to make that very thing so.” Tom rolled away from him, then, and knelt unashamedly naked beside the bed. He pulled out a box, simple in appearance and ornate in the magics used to guard it. From the box he pulled a locket, tarnished and old and yet beautiful nonetheless. Tom settled back into the bed and placed the locket around Severus’ neck. “Guard this well for me, my love, for you guard myself along with it,” he whispered._

_Severus bowed his head and murmured in response, “As you wish, my Lord.”_

_The vision, for that was all that it could be, faded out and blurred at the same time, and then Harry was standing in a shoddy hovel, watching at Severus, still all of sixteen, held a brutal, vicious looking Muggle under the Cruciatus curse. His father, Harry realized, not knowing still where the information came from. Tom was there with him, of course. He/they had one arm slung around Severus’ waist, the other helping Severus to hold his wand up, with his chin resting on Severus’ shoulder._

_The curse was released, and Severus fell back against Tom, panting for breath. “What now, my Lord?” he asked quietly, tilting his head back to stare adoringly into Tom’s eyes._

_“Now, we complete the ritual. Kill him, my Severus. Any method you like. And we’ll take the power in his death and mark you forever as my own.” As Tom spoke, his lips brushed against Severus’ cheek with every word. Harry could feel his pride in Severus, his glee that this was happening._

_Severus bowed his head, closed his eyes, and eventually lifted his wand once more._ “Sectumsempra,” _he murmured, and moved his wand in a series of movements that were by now quite familiar to Harry. He shivered as he watched the man, Severus’ father, scream in new agony as cuts opened up on his chest and arms and legs._

 _They watched for several moments, and then Severus quietly, calmly, whispered the words,_ “Avada Kedavra,” _and a bolt of green light sprang from his wand to strike his father in the chest._

“Morsmordre!” _Tom shouted at the exact moment that the green light of the Killing Curse struck the elder Snape in the chest, his wand digging into the flesh of Severus’ wand arm._

_Harry watched as the mark bloomed across Severus’ arm, dark and dramatic against the pale backdrop of the Potion Master’s skin. Severus himself let out a small cry of pain as he sagged further back against Tom, his knees refusing to bear his weight. But he did not fall. His other arm lifted to clutch at the locket now hanging around his neck and he bowed his head under the pain, but he did not fall._

_“My Severus,” Tom murmured, approval warming his voice. Harry shuddered as he watched the two of them kiss once more, deep and desperate and loving, there in front of the Professor’s father’s corpse. It was a bit disturbing, that they would do that where a man had just died. But he could feel Tom’s love, Tom’s passion, Tom’s need for the young man with him, and Harry felt that it was almost natural when things progressed far beyond kissing, not that he particularly wanted to see it or feel it._

_Thankfully, the dream world blurred once more, and now Harry found himself in a familiar room, the Dark Lord’s sitting room within Malfoy Manor. He was reading, quietly, paging through what appeared to be a book on pure-blood ancestry. There was something off about him, now, something wild and mad and frightening. Harry knew that this Tom had made his other horcruxes, not just the first two. It was obvious that quite a lot of time had passed since the last moment in dreamtime._

_The relative peace of the moment was shattered by a door clattering against the wall. A panicked Severus entered the sitting room, his breath coming rapidly, his eyes wide enough with horror that Harry could see the whites all the way around. He came forward, flung himself to his knees, bowed his head against Tom’s own knee._

_Tom lowered his book, lifted his hand, and ran it gently through Severus’ hair. “What on earth has you running into the room like a frightened dog?” he asked, a hint of disdain coloring his tone. “Have I not requested that you behave with decorum while in these halls?” he added, censure making his words harsh. His tone, however, was fondly amused, and his hand was still gentle in Severus’ hair. Harry could feel the affection in Tom’s every motion, and it took his breath away with... with something. Longing, maybe, to feel that way about another person? Or perhaps to have somebody feel that way about him, more likely._

_“My Lord, I apologize, but I...” Severus stopped speaking, abruptly, and took several deep breaths. “There was a prophecy spoken at the Hog’s Head tonight. It was... I believe that it referred to you,” Severus whispered, pressing his head further against Tom’s knee as though trying to hide from the reality of the world. “It spoke of your downfall,” Severus barely managed to breathe out, so horrified was he._

_“Hmm,” Tom murmured, and placed a single finger under Severus’ chin, forcing the slender Potion’s Master to look up towards him and meet his eyes. Harry could feel his amusement, his love, his affection, and it took Harry’s breath away once more. “You know very well how little stock I place in divinations and prophecies, beloved,” Tom murmured. “So put this out of your mind. I will not fall to the pathetic utterings of a mad Seer.”_

_He drew Severus into a kiss, hoping to distract the man with pleasure. But when they drew apart, while Severus was panting softly and his eyes were heavy lidded, there was also still some fear, some desperation in the way that he clutched at Tom. And never let it be said that Lord Voldemort could not read his beloved._

_“You’re still concerned,” Tom sighed._

_“I cannot help it,” Severus whispered. He leaned forward, then, to bury his head in Tom’s neck. “If you were to leave me,” he whispered, and then stopped as though he couldn’t continue._

_“I will never leave you, my Severus. You carry a piece of me with you at all times,” Tom murmured, and reached out to gently finger the locket that, even now, rested snugly around Severus’ neck. He waited a moment, and when Severus didn’t move, didn’t relax, he let out a small sigh. “Very well. If it disturbs you so very much, we’ll simply have to take steps to settle your fears. I’ve been meaning to ask you, darling, how do you feel about taking a place as a spy among Albus’ professors?”_

_“My Lord, you know that I would do anything you ask of me,” Severus answered, his dark voice light and buoyant with relief._

ooOOooOOoo

Harry woke up gasping for breath. He sat up in bed, clutched at his hair, and let out a shaky, whispered, “No.”

~Harry, are you well? What’s happened?~ Tom asked, sounding alarmed. Harry could feel it, now that he was focussing on it, a sense of worry and fear and desperation making his nerves jangle. His fingers itched for his wand so he picked it up and cradled it close to him. Minerva let out a sleepy little mewl and crawled partially into his lap before flopping down.

“It’s started, Tom. I... you... I had my first dream about you.” Harry’s voice was shaky and tinged with a wild despair. Tom had warned him that this was coming, Harry knew that he had, but Harry hadn’t realized... hadn’t thought that it would be so soon.

He could feel Tom’s own sorrow bleeding through, and then Tom said quietly, ~I’m not surprised. The dreams... no, the visions shouldn’t be too frequent as of yet. But eventually... eventually you’re going to have a very long one, and when you come out of it, I’ll be gone.~ Tom’s voice was surprisingly calm as he made the statement, but it sent a sharp pang of pain through Harry at the mere thought. ~If this works the way I think it was supposed to, your first vision should have been of the most important thing in my life. What did you see?~ Tom asked, curious.

“I saw... I saw your relationship with the Professor,” Harry whispered. He rubbed at Minerva’s head gently for a few moments as he tried to calm down, then pushed her carefully away and stood. He wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, not right then. He was far too unnerved, too jumpy. He needed to go out and do something, anything, to not be so damn petrified that going back to sleep would show him another vision of Tom. He didn’t want to see...

~Huh. That’s... not surprising at all, really, once I stop to think about it. Of course Severus is the most important thing in my life. You would be second, by the way. I love you, but I’ve always... he belonged to me, you know. He was my most loyal follower. My everything, for so long...~ Tom let out a wistful little sigh.

Harry smiled, a melancholy thing. “What say we go work on our other task? I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping well at all tonight.”

~A wise idea. Do you have the decoy book, just in case we get lucky?~ Tom asked.

“Got it,” Harry whispered. He grabbed the heavy, fake volume and shoved it into his bag, from which he pulled the Invisibility Cloak at the same time. He crept from the room, then, and out into the castle, a sense of adventure distracting him from the thought that the merge had just become a much more real threat than it had been.

ooOOooOOoo

Ron scowled at the canopy of his bed. Harry had been talking to himself. That couldn’t possibly be normal. Not that Ron thought that plotting the petrification of students was particularly normal, but still. It didn’t necessarily make one insane. Slightly deranged, perhaps, but not insane.

But talking to himself... And it had been a coherent half of a conversation. Maybe Harry had been using one of those enchanted mirrors he’d read about? But no, because then Ron was pretty sure he’d have been able to hear the other half of the conversation as well. There wasn’t really any way that Harry could have been talking to another person unless... Unless...

Ron sat bolt upright in his bed and stared over at Harry’s now empty one with wide eyes. His scar, which everyone said was a curse scar. It was a conduit to the Dark Lord, it had to be. And Harry had told Draco earlier in the year that... that he was on a task for the Dark Lord. Harry had been speaking to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord had been answering Harry in his mind. That was why Ron hadn’t heard the entire conversation. So Harry wasn’t crazy. Just... just linked to the being widely believed to be the most dangerous wizard of all time.

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed to himself, wishing that he hadn’t connected the dots. Harry had been destined to side with the Dark Lord from the start if he was right. Who could resist a mental link to another person? He just hoped that it wouldn’t damage his friend if he was right.

He lay back down in his bed, closed his eyes, and focused very hard on not focusing on the probable link between the Dark Lord and Harry. There wasn’t anything he could do anyway outside of being a good and supportive friend. And he had classes in the morning, no matter that Harry was apparently content to go to classes on little to no sleep. Ron couldn’t function on less than eight hours of sleep.

But apparently he was destined to be a zombie the next day, because no matter how he tossed and turned, he couldn’t get back to sleep. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ron muttered, and flopped back onto his back to stare up at the canopy once more. This was ridiculous. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Harry, and his task to petrify students, and whatever task he was working on right then. What would happen if Harry failed? The Dark Lord wasn’t known to be kind to those who failed him.

Eventually, unable to sleep and unable to stop thinking of the danger that Harry was undoubtedly in, Ron muttered out an irritated, “ _Tempus_ ,” and found that it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. Way too early to be up, but yet he was far too wound up to go back to sleep. He couldn’t turn his brain off. Bloody Hell, Harry was siding firmly with the Dark Lord, and doing so right under the Headmaster’s nose. There was no way that was going to turn out well.

Ron muffled his irritated groan and eventually stood and stretched. If he couldn’t get back to sleep, then he might as well do some studying or something. He was pretty behind in his Potions’ theory, after all, and Draco and Harry were both great tutors but they shouldn’t need to carry him through the class. He grabbed his bag rather resentfully and made his way into the common room.

The room was empty, and Ron settled into one of the very comfortable couches and pulled out his textbook. If he was very lucky, and he thought maybe he might be, he would fall asleep reading and not be forced to go to classes on only five hours of sleep. He could just imagine the fool of himself he would make if he did. But he didn’t fall asleep. He instead found himself actually focusing on the textbook, if only so that he would stop worrying about Harry.

He didn’t know how long had passed when he heard the quiet question, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Ron jumped, his book dropping from his hands and falling to the floor. Zabini had entered the common room at some point while he was reading, and had even gone so far as to settle next to Ron on the couch and Ron hadn’t noticed. Like he’d said, he was an idiot when he had fewer than eight hours of sleep.

Zabini caught the book before it could hit the ground and offered it to Ron with a small, barely-there smile. “You should be more careful with your things,” he said. “As the Weasleys have so little.”

Ron flushed hotly and felt the familiar burn of rage as his family’s monetary situation was mentioned. But he pushed it down and away. It was the truth, after all. Compared to the Zabinis, the Weasleys had nothing. Less than nothing, even. “I should,” was all he said, and was proud of his unwavering tone. “And what about you?” he asked. “Couldn’t you sleep either?”

Zabini shrugged. “This is the time when, traditionally, I contact my mother. But with you down here, I did not feel comfortable making the firecall. She has undoubtedly gone to bed now that I am so late in contacting her.”

Ron was horrified. “I’m sorry. I could go to bed now, if you wanted to try her anyway,” he offered, nervously fiddling with the cover of his book.

“There is no need for that, Weasley. I am certain that she would have gone to bed now, and she will simply assume that something came up to prevent me from calling her. She knows that I am fine. After all,” the other second year said, a wicked smirk suddenly lighting his face, “I have never been attacked by a Mountain Troll.”

“It was just the one time!” Ron protested. He opened his book up once more, flipped back to the page where he’d been studying, and returned his attention to the book resolutely. He didn’t particularly want to be made fun of by the incredibly rich pureblood sitting next to him.

“One time is more than enough,” Zabini responded, and then fell silent for several moments. Then, he took the book from Ron. “So then, Potions, Weasley?”

“I’m trying to study!” Ron protested, lunging for the book.

Zabini held it deftly out of his way. “And I will help you, if you would just settle down,” he said quietly, calmly. “I know that Malfoy and Potter normally do so, but you quarrelled the other day, so you are still a bit shaky on the theory we went over in class yesterday, yes?”

Ron relaxed. Studying was something he could do. And he was always up for receiving help from a genius like Zabini.

ooOOooOOoo

Breaking into the Headmaster’s office had been surprisingly, disappointingly easy. All it took was a whisper of the password to the gargoyle that guarded the staircase and they were in. Of course, they did have the benefit of having the Founders’ override password, courtesy of Saliss, which would disable all defenses within the Headmaster’s office so long as the person that used the override remained in the office. Once Harry left, every ward and defense would spring back to the way that they were. But while he was in there, even the portraits would be unable to notice him. And on top of that, they wouldn’t even notice that time had passed. Magic was a beautiful thing.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be where his luck ended. Harry searched one of the bookshelves before being distracted by the Headmaster’s desk where he found quite a few interesting things, including some fairly recent correspondence between his Aunt and the Headmaster, wherein Petunia called him a bloodthirsty little monster and threatened to poison his food should the Headmaster attempt to return him to Petunia.

~Oh, your Aunt has such love for you, Harry!~ Tom sang, making an obvious attempt at being cheerful.

~She does, doesn’t she?~ Harry asked, not really surprised by the contents of the letter. ~Maybe I should make sure to return the favor if I ever see her again,~ Harry muttered as he continued to flick through the papers on the Headmaster’s desk.

~If you do, you have to make absolutely certain that you succeed in your attempt,~ Tom said. ~She isn’t likely to do so if she’s warning the Headmaster about it.~

~Of course I would succeed,~ Harry murmured. He was grinning as he said it, though. Yes, if he ever went to actually poison Petunia Dursley, he’d make damned sure to do it properly. He’d give her something slow acting, so that she’d feel every minute of it. He shook the thought off. He had more important things to worry about.

He stood up, then, quite certain that the book was not, in fact, on the Headmaster’s desk. Which made sense, of course, because why would it be on his desk if he’d already gone through the book once or twice? It certainly shouldn’t be a current study of the Headmaster’s. He made his way over to the second bookshelf, out of three. This one appeared to be covered in fascinating little doo-dads and watchamacallits that Harry couldn’t even begin to identify. It would take a few months with a magical encyclopedia to tell what Dumbledore had in there.

And then he heard a soft, sleepy chirp and he froze. Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes, had woken up and was looking about the room. The bird looked tired, ragged, and ready to burn at any given moment.

Harry asked Tom very carefully, ~Do phoenixes see through Invisibility Cloaks?~ He was very grateful that he’d already put the papers down and pushed Dumbledore’s chair back into his desk. If the bird didn’t notice him standing there, he would have definitely noticed a set of papers hovering in mid-air, or a chair pushing itself back under the desk.

~They don’t, that I know of,~ Tom said, just as quietly. Which was ridiculous, because it wasn’t as though the phoenix could hear their thoughts. And if he could they were screwed anyway.

~We should probably go,~ Harry whispered, and he could feel Tom’s assent even as he very carefully began to move back through the Headmaster’s office. He managed not to trip over anything and made it out of the office undetected.

Once they were out and wandering the halls in the direction of the Slytherin common room, Harry asked Tom, ~So how would one go about drugging a phoenix, anyway?~

~I think that maybe that might be both a bit extreme and a bit noticeable. So maybe not so much with the drugging,~ Tom said hesitantly. ~There exists a spell to put phoenixes to sleep, however, and that might be somewhat more effective than simply poisoning the bird.~

~Well if you’re going to be all logical about it,~ Harry muttered as he slipped inside the common room.

And then he froze for the second time that night. Blaise Zabini was in the common room, studying the opened door with a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that you were in possession of an Invisibility Cloak, Potter,” the pure-blood called.

Harry winced, and slipped the Cloak off and back into his bag. “How’d you know it was me?” he asked, approaching warily.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up. Neither was Weasley, but I’ve got him right here.”

Harry frowned. He didn’t see Ron anywhere in the common room. He came around the edge of the couch and his eyebrows rose. Ron’s Potions textbook was open and on the table, and Ron himself was curled up on the couch, fast asleep. The more interesting thing was that apparently he’d fallen asleep while studying with Zabini, and they must have been sitting closely, because his head was in Zabini’s lap.

Harry grinned. “I almost want to take a picture,” he said. “What, did you put him to sleep with Potions?”

Zabini shrugged. “I believe that he was concerned about the conversation you had with somebody just before you left the room,” the other answered.

Harry’s eyes widened subtly before he blanked his expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said calmly.

“Mmm,” Zabini hummed. “I’m sure. Don’t worry, Potter, I’m a neutral party. I won’t say anything to anyone. But you should be more careful about what you discuss and where you discuss it. Just because the walls may not have ears doesn’t mean that your roommates don’t.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Harry said, and left the common room before the pure-blood could do anything more to unnerve him.

He went up to the dorm, curled up in his bed, and tried to pretend like he was asleep. He knew that there was no way in hell that he’d manage any more sleep after the conversation he’d just had. As though he hadn’t already been unnerved enough. He supposed that it was his own fault for being so upset about the vision that he hadn’t even thought to check and see if his dorm-mates were awake.

Hopefully Zabini would keep his word, though. Harry would hate to have to make the other boy regret saying anything to anybody.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

“So you’re Harry Potter,” a young girl’s voice said.

Ron groaned into his plate of food. “Ginny, go away,” he said, and glared in the little girl’s direction.

Harry’s eyebrows raised. She was young, a first year no doubt, and she was staring at him with awe in her eyes and a hopeful smile on her lips. “Ron, you should introduce us,” he offered, although his heart wasn’t actually in the offer. She looked like a fangirl. Fortunately, his Sorting into Slytherin had discouraged the vast majority of them, and he’d hoped to never have to deal with them. He’d really lucked out in his first year when there hadn’t been a single one, but he supposed his luck couldn’t hold forever. He had no doubt that it would take everything he had just to be polite to the little girl, too. He hated sycophants.

Ron let out a heaving, put-upon sigh. “Right then. Harry Potter, this is my younger sister, Ginny Weasley. This year is, of course, her first year at Hogwarts. She’s wanted to meet you since she was five,” he said flatly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ginny said, her smile brightening her face.

Harry fought down the urge to say something rotten, something like, ‘I can’t really say the same’. Though it certainly would have gotten his point across. Aloud he said, “Same,” which was as neutral as he could bring himself to be.

Tom heard the thought, though, and Harry had to fight down his own giggles in response to Tom’s laughter. ~That’s beautiful, Harry, why wouldn’t you say that?~

~Maybe because Ron is my friend and, oh, I don’t know, maybe I’d like it to stay that way?~ Harry suggested. ~Also, the fact that the greatest Dark Lord since Grindelwald approves of the statement isn’t exactly a point in its favor.~

“You play Quidditch for the Slytherin team, Harry?” Ginny was asking as she stepped closer to him.

Harry fought off the urge to push her back. She was invading his personal space in an intolerable way. He’d found that since living with the Dursleys for so long, with their general dislike of him, he’d never really learned to tolerate people being all that close to him. Which meant that when it came to his personal space, it generally was more of a requirement than a want. Ron and Draco seemed to be the exceptions to this discomfort of his, which amused Tom to no end.

“I do,” he finally said, his answer as short as it was possible to be while still being just on the right side of polite. Zabini apparently knew exactly what he was doing, because the incredibly traditional pure-blood was clearly hiding a smile behind his napkin.

“I was wondering, you see, I’m thinking of joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team myself. I’m not a bad Seeker,” the girl said with a false modesty that was, in fact, more unattractive than genuine pride. Harry fought the urge to snarl at her. “So you see, I was wondering if maybe you might teach me some tricks? I’ve heard that you’re wonderful with a broomstick.”

Tom began cackling once more, loud and raucous. ~It’s a wonder that she doesn’t know what she’s saying,~ the spirit crowed. ~You couldn’t have scripted a better innuendo.~

Harry fought the urge to smile. To Tom he said, ~How do you know that she doesn’t?~ even as he responded aloud with, “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to do that, Miss Weasley,” still in that scrupulously polite, calm and even tone. He took a bite of his dessert, a delicious pudding that made his toes want to curl in delight. He’d missed things like this when he’d been growing up, and as such he savored them all the more now that Tom wasn’t the one telling him what to eat and when to eat it.

~I made sure you got good things every now and again! But it was hard to do sweets because your family was so very stingy with the food,~ Tom protested.

~I wasn’t blaming you,~ Harry responded patiently. ~Just thinking about why I enjoyed them so much. Because they are tasty.~

~Most people enjoy some form of sweets; you don’t exactly need a reason to like them,~ Tom shot back.

Harry considered his response, but before he could think of anything he heard the stamping of a delicate little foot. “But why won’t you help me with Quidditch? You’re best friends with my brother!” the girl protested.

Harry turned to look at her and his eyebrows rose. Her arms were crossed and her face was screwed up into an unbecoming pout. “I’m quite busy with schoolwork, if you must know,” he answered, holding tightly to his temper. Who was this little girl to demand that he help her with something? She wasn’t even going to be playing for Slytherin!

“Ginny, seriously, Harry’s got lots to do without you nagging him about playing Quidditch. Besides, you’re in the wrong House. Why should he help you beat us in Quidditch?” Ron asked, his tone perfectly reasonable.

Harry nodded in Ron’s direction. “Listen to your older brother; he’s got the right idea.”

“Quidditch is all in good fun!” the girl proclaimed, and Harry winced. He hadn’t realized how annoying her voice was until just then. “And in the interest of improving inter-House relations, we should try to get along.”

“Gin, we’re not really interested in improving inter-House relations through the use of Quidditch. We’re Slytherins. We’re ambitious. We’d like to win. I don’t think you’re going to win this argument,” Ron said tiredly, with the tone of one who had said it many times before. Harry wondered if Ron had, in fact, had this argument with the little girl before. Which was really only another strike against her. Why wouldn’t one of his best friends know whether he would help his little sister or not?

Her scowl worsened as Harry watched in a combination of amusement and disdain. According to Tom, this was not how pure-bloods behaved in public, even blood traitors like the Weasleys. And if he, raised among Muggles, knew the difference then a Weasley raised among wizards certainly should. “Ron, why are you being mean? I’m going to tell Mum that you won’t ask your friend to help me!” she exclaimed.

Harry snapped. “I don’t know who told you that pouting and stamping your foot and whining made you look attractive, but they don’t. They make you look like a fool. You’re obnoxious, annoying, and foolish. Remove yourself from my sight before I make certain that your appearance matches your shrewish personality,” he snarled.

Tom was entirely silent within Harry’s mind, but Harry could feel his entertainment and his slight awe, and he had to fight down a flush at the feeling. Tom approved, which maybe meant that his behavior hadn’t been the best just then.

The girl paled, then flushed, then tears began to stream down her cheeks and she fled, sobbing, from the Great Hall.

“I apologize, Ron,” Harry said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t sorry at all, really, but he didn’t want to lose the redhead over this nonsense.

Ron waved it off. “Don’t be,” he said easily. “I warned her over the summer, and I warned her again before I joined you on the train that you probably wouldn’t want much to do with her, but she wouldn’t listen. I guess she had to learn the hard way.”

“Nicely done, Harry,” Draco added quietly, approvingly. “A bit cruel, but she clearly wasn’t going to listen to anything else.”

Harry smiled at both of them and went back to enjoying dessert.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was ready for his next target, one Serena Powell. He’d done his research into the Muggle-born girl first, and found that yes, she was in fact an appropriate choice for a target. More than appropriate, in fact, as she was not only cruel to the younger students in her house but she was incredibly lazy and really not all that intelligent. Not that one necessarily expected a Hufflepuff to be intelligent. Yes, unlike Granger, Powell was absolutely worthless and would make an excellent target.

And, her schedule had been almost impossibly easy to learn. She was always doing the same things, and since mostly nobody actually liked her, she was almost always alone. Her one friend was a Slytherin, who seemed delighted by the fact that she couldn’t keep any of her other friends. Harry thought it was a rather unhealthy relationship.

Tom thought that Harry had no call to be calling another relationship unhealthy, considering their own. Most would say that Harry was a little insanely dependant upon him.

Either way, Harry was ready to make his move by that night, which he thought was perfectly appropriate for the start of their fun. ~And you accuse me of being the one with a flare for the dramatic,~ Tom grumbled, as they approached the site where they would use Saliss on poor, dear Serena Powell.

The basilisk was already waiting in the piping, as a matter of fact, hissing gleefully over finally being allowed to do something about the little impure beasts roaming his corridors. The school was his, after all, and he should be allowed to hunt freely within it. He wasn’t happy that Harry wasn’t actually going to let him kill any of the students, but at least Harry was going to let him do something. It was more than he’d had in a long time, at least.

~Seriously, Harry, is the message necessary?~ Tom asked, almost whining. He was scowling at the bucket of red paint in Harry’s hand, acquired from the Room of Hidden Things, because where else would he find paint in Hogwarts? He certainly wasn’t going to write in blood. That was just tacky. It was enchanted paint, too, that would be incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to remove from the walls.

Harry’s message would likely still be there once Voldemort had managed to take over the school, and would serve as a suitable warning. ~I think it’ll be a nice touch to get Dumbledore scrambling,~ Harry thought back, grinning.

~Yes, but _Enemies of the Heir, Beware_? What Heir are we talking about here?~ Tom asked, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

Harry grinned. Tom had been pushing him on this for the past month, ever since Harry had come up with the idea of writing a message. Harry still hadn’t caved in and told him anything about the Heir in question. Beyond, of course, asking which Heir Tom thought he was talking about, which was no kind of answer at all. And one that he reiterated, just for the hell of it. ~Which Heir do you think that I’m talking about?~ he asked, a mischievous smile touching his lips.

Tom let out an inarticulate growl of rage. ~Harry, I swear on both of our magics that if you don’t answer me this instant I will kill you,~ Tom snarled.

Harry felt the flare of power binding the words. His eyes widened in surprise and he swiftly blurted out, “I’m talking about myself!” before the oath could do anything they both regretted. And then winced, because he hadn’t intended to speak that out loud.

~Talking about yourself? And just what do you imagine yourself to be an heir of?~ Tom asked, curiosity piqued. Harry could feel it, bright and brilliant and painful for what it represented. He hated being able to feel Tom’s curiosity.

But he answered the question anyway. ~I’m the heir to a lot of things. The heir to the Potter fortune, the heir to some of your power, the heir to a piece of your soul, and let’s be honest here, by the end of all of this I’ll probably be the Heir to Lord Voldemort’s throne. Because who else would he pick? After all, I’ve got a piece of his soul inside of me.~

~Arrogant of you,~ Tom said, but Harry could both feel his agreement and hear it in his voice. ~He’ll likely be pleased by your ambition. Which will certainly be better than him deciding to strike you down where you stand for being so arrogant. He approves of ambition when it’s in a direction he agrees with.~

It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that Tom was saying “He” instead of “We”, and that made Harry’s heart hurt just a bit. He was pretty sure that as Tom accepted that he and Voldemort were no longer the same person, he and Tom got closer to merging. And he didn’t want to merge. And then, of course, there was the whole...

~So can we talk about you being able to swear on my magic? Because somehow I didn’t think you could do that,~ Harry sent to Tom, his own curiosity getting the better of him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he knew that this was something he needed to know, whether he wanted to or not.

~I shouldn’t be able to,~ Tom said quietly. ~I spoke in jest; I’ll have to be much more careful with what I say next time.~

~So... could I swear on yours?~ Harry asked, not that he was planning on trying it or anything. That would be a disaster in the making.

~I don’t... probably,~ Tom whispered, and the two of them lapsed into an uneasy silence. Harry’s resolve to not make the attempt firmed at the discomfort in Tom’s mind.

They had long since arrived at the ambush site, a little used corridor that did, in fact, lead right to the Hufflepuff common room. Powell always used this corridor to get back because she didn’t seem to like to run into the other students on her way to the dormitories. And Harry had spotted her at the feast, which he’d made certain to be seen attending. He also made sure that he wasn’t the first student to leave the feast. Ron’s sister had that dubious honor, after he’d sent her off in tears.

He almost felt bad about that, but not too bad. After all, she’d been harassing him. Was he not supposed to defend himself from foolish advances that he had no interest in? And she’d been acting like a spoiled brat which, no matter what anybody said, was terribly unattractive.

He turned his attention to painting the message on the wall, then hid everything under his Invisibility Cloak and stood absolutely still as he waited for the girl to come his way. Hopefully she would and he wouldn’t have to try and decide exactly how he wanted to get her into the corridor. It could be messy if she didn’t; he might have to simply have Saliss take the next person that entered the corridor and hope that it whoever it was fit the profile that Voldemort had suggested.

And then he heard the girl, singing quietly to herself as she walked down the hallway she should have known like the back of her hand. She probably did, though Harry couldn’t say for certain.

“Saliss, now, please,” Harry hissed to the snake, who slowly began to emerge from the piping at Harry’s command. His first eyelid was closed, preventing the snake from using the most awesome of his powers. But a direct stare into even the shielded eye of a basilisk would still Petrify any wizard, no matter how powerful. And Serena Powell was anything but powerful.

The little blonde chit stepped into view, then, and froze at the sight of the red paint on the wall. Then she shrieked when she spotted the basilisk and his glowing eyes, but by then it was far too late. She fell stiffly to one side, her body entirely Petrified. Harry walked over and poked at her, just to be sure that she was actually Petrified and not dead, and nodded once in satisfaction.

“Nice job, Saliss,” the boy said from under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak. “Now back to the Chamber with you. I’ll be by with another task for you soon enough,” Harry commanded.

The basilisk grumbled about it, but slithered back into the piping only moments before Harry heard a shriek behind him. Another girl had stumbled upon the scene. Harry swiftly made himself scarce before anybody could accidentally knock into him.

One down, four to go. And one out of the three main tasks completed. Not bad, considering that it was just now Halloween.

~Did you have any doubt that we’d be able to do this?~ Tom asked, curious.

~None at all. Just that we’d be able to get the two tasks completed by Christmas time,~ Harry answered and closed the door to the common room behind him. With the lead they had, he was sure that getting that book from the Headmaster’s office was going to be a mere nuisance at worst. All he had to do was find the time.

ooOOooOOoo

All he needed to do was find the time. What a laugh that was turning out to be.

It was now only a week out from the Christmas holidays, and Quidditch season was in full-throttle. Harry had two and a half practices every week, and that wasn’t counting games. They’d won their first, and Harry was just as determined to win their second, but he was running out of time. If something didn’t give soon he’d have to back out of the team, and wouldn’t that make Tom happy?

On top of that, his teachers seemed as determined as ever to fill up all their time with homework and inane assignments that had nothing to do with anything they were learning. Or rather, everything to do with what they were learning but nothing to do with real world application. Why should he write an essay on the properties of dragon’s blood when he could just look them up in a book? It wasn’t like he’d actually need to have all of this memorized; he wasn’t trying to be a Potion’s Master. He glowered resentfully at his textbook, wishing that he could light it on fire with his stare alone. Tom probably could.

~You know, if you’re still interested in being a Healer you’ll need to do quite well in your Potions class,~ Tom sent smugly. ~So I’d start paying closer attention, were I you.~

Harry growled inarticulately and slammed the book closed. “I hate Potions,” he announced to Draco and Ron, who were sharing his table at the library.

“No, you love Potions. What you hate is that it’s eating into our free time,” Draco answered calmly. He’d joined them a bit later in the library, and Harry had been puzzled to see him paler than normal, and shaking the way he’d shaken right after Lucius had tortured him. It had been a fine, intermittent tremble that nobody would have noticed had they not been watching him closely. Harry always watched Draco closely; he couldn’t help it. Perhaps there was some residual nerve damage? Harry hadn’t heard anything about the Board of Governors visiting Hogwarts that day, so it couldn’t be his father.

He pushed it to the side. Draco had made it clear to Harry that he didn’t want Harry’s help with his father. That didn’t mean that Harry wasn’t going to help him anyway, he just had to be more subtle about it. “What I hate is that it’s keeping me from...” Harry trailed off abruptly as he recalled that Ron was with them, studying quietly and complacently. He’d already slipped up around the Weasley boy once; he couldn’t afford to do it again. What if he reported back to Dumbledore? Not that Harry really thought that his friend would do that.

~You seem to think that Dumbledore wouldn’t use a child to do his dirty work,~ Tom said quietly. ~He absolutely would. We’ve discussed this, Harry. I know that you like the child. Though I’m shocked to say it, I like the child, too. But we cannot risk telling him too much. Even if he isn’t reporting to Dumbledore yet, he might choose to do so once he has all the facts. We cannot risk that. Or would you be willing to kill him when he threatens to go to the Headmaster?~

Harry fought down a snarl. Neither Draco nor Ron had done anything worthy of snarling at, and while Draco might understand just who it was he was actually angry with, Ron would not. ~I understand, Tom. Hence why I haven’t told him of my tasks.~ And he did understand. He just didn’t like it.

“You hate that it’s keeping you from... sleeping? Eating? Flirting with Draco more?” Ron was asking.

Harry flushed violently. “What are you talking about? I don’t flirt with Draco!” he shouted, then winced when Madame Pince shot a vicious glare in their direction. He nodded his head in apology to the librarian, then reiterated in a much more subdued voice, “I don’t flirt with Draco,” as firmly as he could. Because he didn’t.

Tom was laughing in his head again, the treacherous bastard. Even if it was good to hear him laugh, considering how sad he’d been lately.

“I can see how your attentions towards my person could be construed as flirting,” Draco said quietly, flipping a page in his book. “After all, you’re always staring at me, and you _did_ hug me after Quidditch tryouts.”

“What... I- Draco!” Harry sputtered, horrified. “I wasn’t... I mean, that is to say, I didn’t mean to... I mean I-”

“We’re teasing, Harry,” Ron said, and reached over and patted Harry’s hand, still resting on the cover of his Potions text.

It was a condescending gesture, and Harry growled at Ron before jerking his hand back. It was December the first, and he was still nowhere near being able to figure out how to put the damned phoenix to sleep without alerting the Headmaster to anything suspicious. He’d gotten back into the man’s office several times, but always now the bird was awake and watching, and chirped the minute that Harry got up the stairs. It was... frustrating, to say the least.

It had led to him being forced to make the potion that Tom had mentioned to him when the phoenix had first woken up with Harry in the room. It was a version of the standard Sleeping Draught, although a bit more difficult because they needed it in a gaseous form and they needed it to affect a phoenix. Most potions wouldn’t affect phoenixes as they had a natural immunity to most of the ingredients. It had taken Tom a good three weeks to work out the theory for the potion which, while not long for others, was staggeringly long for the ex-Dark Lord. At one point he’d even been ready to throw in the towel and ask Snape for help, which Harry had vetoed. They were doing this on their own or they wouldn’t do it at all.

At least he was ready for the next part of his other, bigger task: Petrifying one Martin Anderson, a fourth year Gryffindor. At least that had the benefit of helping them out in Quidditch, since Anderson was his team’s Seeker. He wasn’t very good, but the rest of the team was and Harry thought that anything to give Slytherin an edge was probably a bonus. Other than that, the boy was lazy as anything. He barely maintained passing grades in his classes and made no effort to apply himself. He apparently had delusions of becoming a Quidditch player professionally. Since he was a barely adequate player, Harry felt as though he’d be doing the boy a favor by Petrifying him. Maybe it would help him get his act together.

“What are you grinning at?” Ron asked, curiously.

Harry flushed. “I’m just thinking about something, that’s all,” he said defensively. And he was. Thinking of the potion brewing down in the Chamber of Secrets that would finally, finally be ready tonight. And the fact that he was, finally, ready to move on Martin Anderson. So the plan, such as it was, was simple: move on Anderson tonight, after dinner, because the fourth year was always the last one out of the dining hall and again, almost never with friends. And then, after he’d done that, while the Headmaster was presumably consoling the poor dear boy’s distraught family, Harry would take his Cloak, gas the phoenix, and sneak into Dumbledore’s office where he could search the Headmaster’s office at his leisure. Hopefully.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry had to make things as public as possible this time, without either himself or Saliss being caught. He needed to get into the Headmaster’s office that night, because he didn’t know when else he would find the time with his schedule of homework and the like. Not that homework was actually important, but Professor Snape would have his head if he thought that Harry was slacking off in his class.

~Your homework should be coming first, anyway,~ Tom protested quietly, and Harry started.

He didn’t mean to, but he was busy sneaking and Tom had been awfully quiet for most of the day. More quiet than normal earlier in the week, too. He pointed that out to Tom, then asked, ~Are you well?~ although he didn’t think it likely that Tom could actually get sick inside his head. After all, how could the spirit become ill while living inside of him? It didn’t seem possible.

Tom gave a quiet murmur of assent and then, softly, ~Just giving you a chance to adjust to not hearing my voice.~

Harry rolled his eyes. ~You yourself said that you didn’t think it would happen for another year. Please don’t start being all depressed about that again.~ Though his words were harsh, he said them as gently as he could. He hated that Tom was so upset about this, hated that there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Tom made no response, not even when Harry deliberately knocked his vial of Sleeping Draught against the stone wall of the castle. They were hiding in the corner where two halls met, and Saliss was just inside a vent. The vent was, rather conveniently, placed at eye level, and Saliss was positioned in just the right way that his eyes were up against the grating. As soon as Anderson reached the end of the hallway, Saliss would open the first flap of his eyelids and Petrify the fourth year, and ideally be gone before anybody else could be caught by the basilisk’s gaze.

Of course it didn’t work out quite that way. Anderson was on his way back to the Gryffindor common room, but he was talking and laughing and there was a girl with him that Harry didn’t recognize.

He swore within his mind and asked Tom, ~Should we go for it anyway?~

~I don’t see how we have a choice. As you stated only moments ago, we’re running out of time,~ Tom answered, not sounding particularly enthused.

Harry worried over the spirit. He seemed to be lapsing into a sort of depression, not that Harry could blame him. He’d be depressed too if he were dying. But he didn’t have time to worry about Tom right now. “Saliss, go for it,” he whispered, and the snake opened his eyes.

He got Anderson, absolutely, but then the girl stopped to see what he was staring at and the basilisk got her, too. Harry groaned, then ordered the snake back to the dungeons. He didn’t recognize the girl in question, beyond that she was older and wearing Slytherin colors, but he hoped that she wasn’t the daughter of one of Voldemort’s followers. That could get messy if she was.

~I don’t recognize her,~ Tom said, sounding at least a little bit more interested. Harry had only a moment to be relieved until he heard another set of voices, this time coming from the opposite direction. He waited until the screaming started, waited until the Headmaster himself arrived on the scene, then slipped off towards the man’s office.

From there, sneaking into the Headmaster’s office was child’s play. He used the override password once more and made his way up the stairs. Sure enough, the obnoxious and ratty looking phoenix was waiting on his perch, singing softly to himself. The song made Harry ache with something he couldn’t define, and then he was uncapping the vial that Tom had prepared and tipping it over.

A fine mist spread throughout the room, soft and subtle and creeping. Harry cast a swift Bubblehead Charm on himself and waited. It took only moments for the mist to take its effect, and Fawkes fell into a deep and restful sleep that would appear to be perfectly natural to anyone looking. There wouldn’t even be a trace of the potion left within Fawkes’ system once the bird had awoken, should anyone even think to check. Harry relaxed and moved immediately over to the bookshelves he’d begun to search when Fawkes had woken up almost three months ago.

The first of the bookshelves didn’t have the volume in question, though Harry did see several books that looked interesting. He reached out and opened one, skimmed it a bit, then settled it back into place as though he’d never touched it when Tom let out an impatient hiss in his ear. ~What? I wasn’t going to stand here and read the whole thing,~ Harry protested.

~We don’t have time for you to be reading anything! I’ll remember the title and we can look into getting you a copy of that particular book later. The Tales of Beedle the Bard isn’t a particularly rare novel. You can pick up a copy in any Flourish and Blotts,~ Tom hissed at him.

~Why are you hissing? It isn’t as though anybody but you can hear me,~ Harry asked, although he was quite delighted that Tom was actually acting and responding rather than just sulking in his head in some great miasma of despair.

~Because I don’t want to give you a headache from shouting at you. If you’re quite through with asking nonsensical questions, don’t we have a book to be finding before the Headmaster comes up to his office with the desperately broken-hearted parents of the hellspawn you just Petrified?~ Tom asked, venom dripping from his words.

Harry smiled even as he moved on to the fourth and final bookshelf in the room. The first two he’d gotten on the first night, and the third he’d just done. Hopefully the book hadn’t been moved in the two months he’d been unable to get into the Headmaster’s office.

It hadn’t. There it was right at eye-level, as immaculate and dust-free as all the other books and knick-knacks on the other bookshelves. The house elves no doubt had their hands full when dealing with the Headmaster’s office. There was so much stuff to clean off in the cluttered room! Harry was very glad that he didn’t have to deal with the Headmaster’s office. It would be a nightmare.

~Harry,~ Tom ground out, sounding nervous and irritated and several other things all at once.

Harry fought back a grin, and then searched his bag for the duplicate book that Voldemort had given him. He felt a moment’s panic when he couldn’t find the duplicate, but then it was there and he’d switched the books. He got out of the man’s office and was halfway down the hall when the Headmaster returned to his office, a somber frown on his face.

Once they were back, safe and sound within the Slytherin common room, Harry sent to Tom, ~So, task accomplished. We’re all set for Christmas, then, right?~

~Except that you forgot about getting Christmas presents for Ron and Draco, and we’re in the week before Christmas break,~ Tom sent back, smug and entertained.

Harry let out a loud, vicious swear that had the entire common room turning to stare at him. He flushed, ducked his head, murmured an apology, and fled to the dormitory before he could embarrass himself further.

He still had two weeks to buy presents for Draco and Ron, especially since he was going to be going to Malfoy Manor for Christmas. He had no doubt that he’d be able to find something suitable for both of them in Diagon Alley, and he’d make a point to go there before returning to the Manor with Draco once break started. That was an easy enough oversight to fix. He hoped.


End file.
